We, as a family, lost so much in the last war. I do not think we would survive losing any more to another.
At supper tonight, Father spoke of conscription. It spoiled my appetite entirely, making each mouthful of potato and leek pie hard to swallow. I wanted to speak his name, my dearest brother Archibald, for no one ever muttered it since his passing. But I dared not ruin the little peace. Upsetting Mother now would not end well, especially not with a storm brewing beneath Father’s skin.
Teddy sensed my worry from across the table. I know he did because his gaze never left me. If I ever believed in the fanciful concepts of magic, he would be the reason why. He has a way of knowing what concerns I harbour in my busy mind. One look at me, he says that is all it takes.
We sat opposite one another while Mother and Father sat at the table’s heads. Teddy engaged in conversation and did everything in his power to settle the tension my father had brought home with him. I admired that about him. Even in moments when silence is required, he finds a way to make noise and change the atmosphere.
It was not his words that brought me comfort during supper. It is his foot, which he brushed slowly and tentatively up and down my leg.
He did it in front of them both. All it would have taken was one of them to drop a spoon on the floor, and they would have seen what he was doing beneath the table.
I should have felt terrible for it. But what they do not know cannot harm them. How could I feel guilt for him touching my leg when he had spent the last two months touching far more than something so mundane?
You must think of me a terrible son, reader.
I blush now as I write this, thinking about how we spend our nights. I wish to tell you, but I fear putting it down in words. Writing such things makes them real, and I already struggle to deal with the concept myself, let alone share the burden with you.
Can I ask you a question? I understand you are incapable of replying, but perhaps putting this down in words will help me.
Will I go to hell for loving a man? For loving my Teddy.
All my life, I have grown up knowing such thoughts and actions are impure under God’s scrutinising gaze – but how can loving someone the way I love Teddy be evil or ugly when it fills me with more breath than I could ever describe? Teddy thinks my worries are silly. He said as much, telling me we should not refuse one another’s affections just because some unseen figure from an old book tells us so.
I wish I saw the world the way he does. It would make life so much easier to deal with.
I asked him the same question once as I laid my head on his bare chest. And do you know what he told me?
If loving you is worthy of hell, I go there gladly, knowing it accepts us together.
I hold on to not his words but the sentiment.
I cannot bear the thought of not seeing him tonight. Even as I write this, I can see the glow of light from the gatehouse he stays in. It is a beacon, calling me to him. He knows tonight will be different because Father is home. Whereas Mother sleeps soundlessly, Father hardly rests at all.
He shuffles from room to room downstairs, finishing off a bottle of spirits and mumbling. I am frightened of him, the broken man he became after Archibald died. His moods, his darkness. I only hope that one day he sees the light.
No good comes from dwelling comfortably in the dark, reader.
I want to go to Teddy, I do. I wish to feel the press of his naked warmth against me. It is one of life’s wonders to fall asleep to the tracing of rough fingers running across my back. It is another to wake to the press of cold lips above every inch of my spine. He cares for me as tenderly as he does his roses.
My body yearns for him. My mind cries out for him.
But how can I go without sparking suspicion? Mother and Father must not know. They mustnotfind out. The thought alone makes me want to climb out of my window and throw myself beyond it. The pain from the fall would be nothing compared to the pain of seeing hate in their eyes. The disappointment. I would not survive it.
Their only remaining son, not moulded in the way they so desired.
Teddy tells me not to dwell. He promises he will let no harm come to me. And I believe him – I do. But life is delicate; it would not take a harsh touch to ruin it. I constantly feel as though I am standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the knowledge of what would become of me if my family found out I had fallen in love with a man.
Expectation would do that to a person, I know that.
Would they cast me out? Maybe. Would it be so terrible? I do not know.
These are the thoughts I am plagued with, which is why Imustgo to Teddy tonight. He will take them away. He will bury them deep for me, until the next time I am left alone.
If they find me, my parents, I will tell them I was sleepwalking. Although the affliction has not occurred in many years, I have often been known to walk the grounds at night before. But the risk is worth the reward.
Which is why I will wait – wait for my father to settle himself. I will move from my room only when his snores shake the very foundations of the manor. Some nights, my father hosts his meetings from his study, so at least I know he will be occupied with his visitors if they come tonight.
In truth, I prefer to escape to the gatehouse when my father is holding those meetings. I hate how his voice travels as if they fill the walls. Once, I was sure I heard him inside the wall just off the landing, which is silly because even the mice do not bother with Hanbury.
