Chapter Text
ouis had never been a devoted churchgoer by any measure, but since his arrival in Hansford, he dutifully attended Sunday mass. It was mainly for Paul’s sake—out of a sense of familial obligation—but also because, frankly, there was little else to do in Hansford on Sunday morning. His devotion usually entailed sitting in the back pews, preferably in the darkest corner, where he was free to let his mind wander—or, on less virtuous mornings, discreetly page through the cheap salacious novel he kept hidden in his coat pocket. Paul’s sermons, while more than fervent enough and even, on rare occasions, engaging, tended to be overlong. Louis appreciated having the option for other distractions to pass the time.
The church this morning was unusually full. A small hum of hushed conversations ran over the room as the assembly of modest parishioners—mostly weather-worn sheep farmers, and their ruddy-cheeked wives and daughters in cheap bonnets—settled into their seats. Louis lingered at the entrance, surveying the crowded pews. He internally cursed himself for not following Lily’s example and pretexting needing to pack his trunk as an excuse to remain home.
Paul was already at the pulpit, looking very grave and dignified in his vestments, his watchful eye following the young altar boys arranging the wine and bread. Doris was sitting at the front, gazing up adoringly at her husband. With a resigned sigh, Louis stepped inside, intending to slip unnoticed into his usual quiet corner.
His plan was quickly undone when he spotted Lestat, his unmistakable golden curls catching the morning light filtering through the narrow, arched windows.
Louis’s eyes widened in surprise. Lestat had made his disdain for the church abundantly clear—on more than one occasion. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had roused himself from bed this early to be here. He looked like an angel in his cream-coloured overcoat and crisp white cravat—though Louis could scarcely imagine a less angelic disposition. He smiled when his gaze met Louis’s, and waved him over with a casual ease entirely inappropriate to the setting.
Louis made his way down the aisle, feeling suddenly more awake than he had been a few moments ago. He glimpsed Sir Gregory and Lady Sevraine, sitting in the first row as befitting their rank—unlike Lestat who had somehow managed to position himself conspicuously in the second row, while still partially hidden behind a column.
Louis slid into the pew next to him, torn between amusement and astonishment. “What are you doing here?” he murmured in lieu of a greeting.
“I woke up with an irrepressible yearning to hear the good word,” Lestat replied with a smirk.
“Did you now?”
Lestat clasped his hands together in a gesture of mock piety. Louis bit back a smile, shaking his head, even as his treacherous heart thudded in his chest as though it might burst. He didn’t dare flatter himself in thinking that Lestat was here solely to see him. More likely, the man was simply bored out of his mind, and as everyone knew, there was little else to do in Hansford on Sunday morning.
The congregation rose as the first strident notes of the slightly out-of-tune pipe organ rang out. Lestat leaned closer, ostensibly to peer over Louis’s shoulder at the hymn book. Louis was acutely aware of the faint brush of their shoulders, the delicious warmth radiating between them. He caught the faint scent of Lestat’s cologne—the intoxicating mix of sandalwood and lavender that now permeated his very soul.
He did his best to follow along Paul’s sermon, but an hour or so in, he found his mind inevitably drifting, mainly to the man beside him. Lestat’s handsome face had all the appearance of impassive calm, but his hands were fidgeting restlessly on his lap, his shoulders tight with barely contained tension. He did not enjoy being here, that much was evident. Louis leaned in, pitching his voice to a low whisper. “Are you afraid you might combust Mr. Lioncourt?”
Lestat sniggered, earning a earning a few disapproving glances from nearby parishioners. He raised his handkerchief, pretending to cough, before replying in an equally low tone, “Quite possibly. It’s been years since I last set foot in a church.”
“Right. A disagreement with some monks as I seem to recall.”
“Non, not at all,” Lestat retorted with a pout. “The monks were fine—quite charming in fact. It was rather their blind, feeble, non-existent deity that I took issue with.”
Louis shot him a mock-scandalized look. “For shame, Mr. Lioncourt! Such blasphemy in the house of the lord. Now I’m quite certain you’ll be struck down at any moment.”
Lestat smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Believe me, mon cher, I’ve done far worse things in a church.” His voice dropped, a conspiratorial whisper that sent a shiver down Louis’s spine. “I used to be a choirboy as a child. We got up to all manner of things.” His brow quirked suggestively as his hand brushed against the seam of Louis’s trousers, the touch fleeting yet electrifying.
Louis swallowed, heat rising to his face. He could easily imagine what a menace Lestat must have been as a boy. He certainly was a menace now—a delicious distraction that Louis couldn’t seem to get enough of. He turned back toward the pulpit, fighting to maintain his composure. He did his best to pay attention to what Paul was saying—which, apparently, was something to do with intercourse.
A ripple of murmured shock and amusement spread through the congregation as Paul stuttered, quickly correcting himself. “Forgive me, through the intercourse of friendship or civility…”
Louis’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. He glanced back at Lestat, expecting to find him delighting at Paul’s blunder, but Lestat’s gaze was trained on him, a strange intensity in his pale eyes.
“If it’s amenable,” Lestat whispered, his voice soft but intent, “I wish to speak with you privately after the service.”
Louis blinked, caught off guard. “Yes, of course,” he murmured.
The remainder of the service passed in a haze, the anticipation of whatever Lestat intended to say crowding out all other thoughts. Perhaps Lestat simply wanted them to have a private goodbye, and that exhilarating thought made Louis’s heart race with reckless excitement.
As much as he was eager to see Grace and Claudia again—and even his mother to a lesser degree—he could hardly stand the thought of being parted from Lestat again, of spending long dull months without seeing that dazzling smile, or hearing that seductive drawl.
But perhaps he and Lestat could see each other again when he came to visit Paul. And perhaps they could even keep a steady correspondence—if novel were to be believed, epic romances had subsisted on far less. Louis shook his head, chastising himself for such childish thoughts. It was stupid to hope for anything more than a fleeting tryst. Despite the lovely interlude they’d had this past month, the undeniable fact remained that he and Lestat existed worlds apart, even if those worlds sometimes intersected in the most thrilling and delicious ways.
Lestat had no opportunity to speak privately with Louis after the service, as Lady Sevraine and Sir Gregory quickly joined them outside the small church, and Lady Sevraine, in her usual commanding yet graceful manner, insisted on inviting Louis to luncheon at Rosings. The party walked back together, Louis and Sir Gregory strolling slightly ahead, while Lestat gallantly offered his arm to Lady Sevraine.
As they walked, Sir Gregory fell into step beside Louis, his habitual, easy smile firmly in place. Leaning slightly closer, he murmured conspiratorially, “I have a great secret to share with you, Louis…”
Louis’s brows arched in mild curiosity. “Oh?”
Sir Gregory cast a quick glance over his shoulder before replying, his voice lowered for effect. “Lestat means to invite you to come visit us in London. He has spoken of little else all morning, quite to the detriment of my peace of mind. You did not hear this from me, of course. And when the offer is made, be sure to look sufficiently surprised.” He punctuated his revelation with a playful wink.
“Thank you for alleviating my suspense,” Louis replied with a small laugh. “I confess, I was in agony through the entire service, pondering what it was he so intently wished to discuss.”
“Will you accept then? I certainly hope you do. It would greatly lessen the pain of your departure to know that we might see you again very soon.”
Louis hesitated, his steps slowing slightly. “Perhaps,” he said tentatively. “It would depend on my obligations at home, of course, but I’m…not opposed to the idea. I’ve only visited London a handful of times, and always on matters of business.”
The hazy memories of those long-ago trips resurfaced. He’d been just a boy then—barely thirteen—but Papa had insisted that he needed to learn the family trade. He remembered accompanying his father to the tense and impassioned meetings with the merchants, the long, dreary hours spent in noisy and stifling auction rooms, and the solitary evenings in the damp lodgings in Cheapside, waiting for his father to return from the gaming tables.
“I take it you don’t travel out of Hertfordshire much then,” Sir Gregory said.
Louis shook his head, deciding to answer honestly. “I would love to travel more, but unfortunately, my obligations and lack of means prevent me from it.”
Gregory gave him a compassionate pat on the shoulder, that would have likely felt patronizing coming from anyone else. “Yes, I can understand that perfectly.”
Louis scoffed softly, glancing at him in disbelief. “Forgive me, Sir, but how could you possibly understand? You’re the son of a duke, a baronet in your own right, with wealth and status enough to do as you please. I doubt you’ve ever been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose.”
To his surprise, Gregory let out a booming laugh that echoed through the park. “I must say, Louis, you seem to think the wealthy hold a prejudice against you, but I daresay it is you who are prejudiced against us.” His tone was teasing, but his expression grew contemplative as he continued, “I suppose you’re right in some respects— I cannot claim to have known the same hardships as others have. But I am the younger son, and my parents never looked beyond my elder brother. Whatever wealth and status I have now, I assure you I acquired entirely for myself.”
He paused, his expression growing pensive as he looked out at the verdant expanse of Rosings Park. “My brother squandered our family’s entire fortune. He died penniless, crippled with so many gambling debts that he had to be buried in a pauper’s grave. Sevraine was just twenty-five then, a foreigner with no family and no connections. She found herself utterly destitute.”
Louis remained silent, stunned by this unexpected candidness. Gregory’s usual lighthearted demeanour gave way to something raw and earnest as he continued, “It’s nothing short of a miracle that we managed to hold on to Rosings, and turn it from the neglected ruin that it was into what it is today, a magnificent estate upon which the livelihood of hundreds of people depends.”
Louis looked down, feeling utterly chastised. “I apologize. I should not have presumed to understand your circumstances—”
Gregory’s hearty laugh returned, and he clapped Louis on the shoulder again. “It’s all right Louis. You’re still young and filled with fiery ideals of rich and poor, good and evil. In time, you will learn, as I did, that life is not painted in stark blacks and whites, but in endless shades of grey.”
Louis nodded, quietly falling back into step with Sir Gregory as they crossed the small bridge that led out of the church courtyard.
“Will you be remaining in Kent for long?” he asked, eager to steer the conversation toward a less fraught topic.
“As long as Lestat chooses. I am entirely at his disposal,” Sir Gregory replied with a wry smile. “Though I suspect his sudden attachment to Kent will wane considerably after your departure.”
Louis raised an eyebrow, both flattered and amused by the reflection. “Right. I imagine he dragged you here solely to have a travel companion at his disposal. He strikes me as the kind who does not enjoy being alone.”
“You’re quite right about that. Lestat is a social creature. He cannot bear to be without company.”
Louis chuckled. “Then perhaps he should marry and secure a more lasting convenience of that kind.”
“Well, whoever he would choose would be very lucky,” Sir Gregory said, with a suggestive wink that Louis was not sure how to interpret.
“Really?” he said drily. In his opinion, Lestat was far too much of a hedonistic rake to make a suitable husband to any lady of good breeding. Though even he had to admit that Lestat made for the perfect eligible bachelor on paper; wealthy, indecently handsome, and descended from a great and noble family. Besides, from what he had surmised from their conversations, Lestat’s inclinations did not preclude him from enjoying the company of women. There was, therefore, nothing preventing him from securing a good match if he ever wished it.
Louis quickly chased the thought away. The idea of Lestat marrying someone else was too unbearable for him to contemplate at any great length. He shuddered to imagine Lestat wed to some naïve, doe-eyed debutante or, far worse, to someone like Babette Frenière, an ambitious and calculating woman, who would care for nothing but his wealth and status.
Sir Gregory, oblivious to Louis’s inner turmoil, replied cheerfully. “Absolutely. Lestat is a most generous and loyal companion. In fact, on our journey here he was telling me that he had recently rescued one of his friends from a most imprudent match.”
Louis’s steps faltered, his lungs constricting painfully as the words struck him with the force of a sudden blow. He looked up at Sir Gregory, trying to maintain a detached and politely curious expression. “Oh? Who was the man?”
“His good friend Mr. Frenière,” Gregory said. “They were together in Hertfordshire, perhaps you know the man?”
Louis felt as if the ground was suddenly shifting beneath his feet, and he was about to fall at any moment. Levi. Of course, it had to be Levi. And the imprudent match could only be Grace. He inhaled sharply, the cool air stinging his throat. “I do,” he said, his voice taut. “We were briefly acquainted. Did Lestat give a reason for this interference?”
Gregory hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he noted Louis’s sudden change in demeanour. “He told me there were strong objections to the young lady.”
“What objections? Louis realized his voice had risen and he forced himself to lower it. “Her lack of fortune, I presume?”
Gregory blinked, startled by the sudden intensity of Louis’s tone. “I believe it was her family that was considered unsuitable,” he said carefully.
Louis stopped in his tracks, utterly stricken. He turned to look back at Lestat, who was now trailing several paces behind—no doubt on account of Lady Sevraine’s delicate slippers that were not at all suited for walking outdoors. Lestat’s eyes caught his, and he smiled that maddeningly familiar smile—sweet, self-assured, and utterly untroubled. Louis turned away sharply, his voice low and trembling when he spoke again. “So Lestat separated them?”
“I believe so,” Gregory replied, now watching him with a concerned expression. “I’m afraid I do not know all the details on the matter, but I’m certain Lestat would be happy to tell you all about it.”
“There is no need,” Louis said curtly. “I believe I have heard quite enough.”
He quickly mumbled some excuse about remembering an urgent matter he needed to attend to at the cottage. Sir Gregory seemed taken aback, but he graciously bid him goodbye. Louis bowed quickly and turned, his legs carrying him as if by instinct. He ignored the perplexed look on Lestat’s face as he quickly strode away.
He walked blindly across the park, hardly caring where he was going. The betrayal struck him in waves, each one fiercer than the last. He had never, even for a moment, suspected that Lestat had been involved in the drastic and cruel measures taken to separate Mr. Frenière and Grace. He had always attributed to Miss Frenière and Lady de Clermont the design and arrangement of it all. But now, to discover that Lestat had been the one to do it…it was unbearable. The man in whose arms Louis had spent the previous morning was the same one who was the cause of all that Grace had suffered, and still continued to suffer. Louis felt sick thinking of it.
A chilly breeze stirred the leaves, and a few thick drops began to fall, but Louis barely noticed. His steps quickened, his boots stumbling over the uneven terrain, as he absurdly tried to outrun the flood of emotions rising within him. Anger, confusion, and something far worse—something perilously close to heartbreak.
He wondered if he’d imagined it all—those little moments with Lestat when it had felt like they understood each other perfectly, in a way that no one else could. Those thrilling hours where it had felt like it was just the two of them in the world, like nothing else mattered besides their kisses and touches, and the air they breathed together.
But how could it have possibly been real? How could Lestat possibly care for Louis when he disdained his family so profoundly? It was the height of arrogance and hypocrisy. Lestat, had all but openly courted Louis, while denigrating his family and ruining his sister’s happiness behind his back.
The rain was falling more steadily now, seeping through his coat and numbing his naked fingers, but Louis did not care. Hellfire could have rained down from the heavens as he had playfully whispered to Lestat in the church—what did it matter? None of it mattered anymore.
Unsuitable, that was the word Sir Gregory had used. It kept pounding in Louis’s head like a hammer. Lestat considered Louis’s family unsuitable for his friend to marry into. It was indeed true that the Pointe du Lacs lived in a semi-genteel poverty, with barely any money to spare and far too many expenses to spend it on. But they were a respectable family, with as much dignity and good breeding as any noble house in the country. And yet Lestat had, with all his arrogance, thought it his right to decide their fate and condemn them.
Grace was the very embodiment of kindness and sweetness, and Frenière was a fool for having been swayed so easily into refusing her. But as it now stood, Louis was almost grateful for it. If she and Levi had married, their family would have been even more entangled with Lestat, and Louis could think of no worse fate. He wished nothing more than to never gaze on Lestat’s arrogant, treacherous face ever again.