#i of course was too lazy to shade the beauty's coat... and too anxious to add lashes in case I ruin it 🙃

[beastsovrevelation]

Lady Crowley 🐍 (lineart version)

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

M/M Romance, Arranged Marriage  - Also available on AO3

Author’s note: I realized that pasting into Tumblr means none of the formatting remains. To read the story with correct formatting, read it on AO3.

Chapter 2: The Harvest Ball

“Philip!”

I jumped in my seat. Almost four months and my mother was calling for me. My heart rose in my chest, only to fall with a thud. If she was calling for me, it could not be for anything good.

“Philip, come down at once, we have excellent news!”

I swallowed and straightened my shirt--an old one, frayed on the collar and cuffs. Closing my eyes, I sent up a quick prayer before I started for the stairs and the receiving room.

Mother and Father both stood there, matching smiles on their faces.

“Philip, my darling! I have excellent news!” Mother stepped forward to greet me, while Father watched from his spot perched in his chair. “Oh, but look at what you’re wearing right now, you must change, this would never do!” She began to fuss at my collar and cuffs and I stood there and let her. She was speaking with me.

“What’s the news, Mother?

“Of the best kind, Philip dearest! We have been invited to the Harvest Ball! Can you imagine?” She stopped fussing and patted my cheek. “It seems we are not friendless after all! Oh, but I cannot wait!” She turned to Father. “We must have new clothes made, for all three of us, I insist--”

“Of course!” Father interrupted, “I would never hear of us arriving at the Harvest Ball in anything less than the best!”

“But, the funds…” I stammered.

Father held up a hand. “Don’t worry about that for a moment, Philip. How very uncouth to worry about something as trifling as funds at a moment like this!” He chuckled heartily, and I did not argue with him. He was speaking with me. 

Mother went off in a flurry of excitement, planning every detail from our carriage to our suits, to a reminder to Father that he must not get pulled to the cards table no matter what, and he promised, so he simply must not do so, isn’t that right, Philip dearest?

To think, all it took to no longer be a ghost in my own house was a charitable invite from some well-meaning former acquaintance of my parents. Had I known, I would have orchestrated one months ago.

***

We arrived at the Harvest Ball in a beautiful black carriage, decorated in dark red painted wreaths, just like Mother imagined. I was dressed in a wine red coat, and trousers over snowy white hose, with leather heeled shoes and a matching red top hat. Mother wore a dramatic creation that resembled the flouncy ensembles I had seen in Margaret’s workroom in fiery shades of autumnal glory. Father wore a more sedate deep brown suit, and with Mother on his arm, they looked very much like a rare bird had landed on a very plain tree.

The Harvest Ball was a study in splendor as it was every year. Every wall and window was festooned with autumn colors, and tables groaned under the weight of rare delicacies. Truly, it was one of the few events that could rival the Shawdun’s Spring Fete in terms of luxury and cost. I sighed as I entered the room. There was something magical about being surrounded by so much opulence; it made one straighten their back and walk smarter. As I looked around, I couldn’t help but wonder what Billy would think of it all. Soon enough, he would himself be invited to such fetes as these, and the splendor would no doubt overwhelm him. I chuckled as I imagined it; his eyes round like saucers and he would spin in circles trying to take everything in.

“Pleasure to see you, Philip! It’s been too long!”

I startled and turned at Oliver’s voice. He was dressed well, his clothes a better cut and fabric than mine, but styled simply. The forest green theme of his ensemble brought out the green in his eyes. “Good to see you too, Oliver!”

He bowed shortly, his smile as kindly and warm as I remembered. “What has you laughing with such abandon?”

“Oh! Ah, nothing much, no matter, just a passing thought.” Truly, it was good to see Oliver, but I wanted to leave before--

“Philip Mallory, what a pleasant surprise.”

There was no helping my full-body reaction to hearing his voice again. Deep, even, calm… kind. Kind like Oliver’s. Truly they were such a well matched pair. I turned to greet my former fiance Henry Shawdun.

In all the time we had spent apart, I had forgotten how stunning he was. He wore a dark red suit, like mine, but like Oliver’s it was a far better cut and fabric than my own. The suit's shape molded to the set of his broad shoulders and chest and his ivory hose hugged his strong legs. He wore a new pair of black Hessians, and his hat was a matching wine red, with a green band to match Oliver’s ensemble. And his eyes...

“Henry Shawdun,” my voice was even but for the cracking in “Henry” and “Shawdun.” Very well done, excellent composure, Philip. “The pleasure is mine.” I gave him a short bow, eyes focusing on his straight nose as I rose again.

“It’s good to see you again, Philip. I hope you are well?”

I had been avoiding him ever since we broke off our engagement. He would never seek me out, not when I was the one desiring we part ways, and I hadn’t known how to bridge the distance afterward. Every thought of us interacting when we had so much history… I did not know how to face him. My family’s demotion in society had only aided in my avoidance of him, as we no longer ran in the same circles, save for Margaret, but I made sure to never be at Margaret’s when he was expected to be there. 

“Excellently well, Henry, thank you.”

Henry hastened to Oliver’s side, handing him a glass of wine to match his own. “Sorry I don’t have a glass for you, Philip, I didn’t realize that you were--ah, but please take mine.”

“No, no, please don’t trouble yourself!” This was no longer my place. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking tonight… Er, upset stomach, you see.”

Both Henry and Oliver looked at me with concern. “I’m so sorry to hear--” Henry started.

“I have just the thing for that back at home!” Oliver interrupted, smacking himself in the forehead. “I knew I should have brought it!”

Oh, good God! “No, no, it’s all well and good! I...I seem to be feeling much better all of a sudden!” I patted my stomach vehemently for good measure. “Ah, yes, the pain is going away!”

“I pray you have a full recovery.” That from Henry. My eyes were pulled to his steady blue gaze. His eyes were creased at the edges and I read a familiar amusement. Engaged or not, he could still read me far too well.

I felt my face flush red. “Anyway, I’d best be going to… er, find my parents. They must be wondering at my absence.”

“Of course.” Oliver nodded. “Next ball, rest assured I will carry my remedies on me, blast this suit with no pockets! I’m sure Edmond--” He cut himself off suddenly, and tugged at Henry’s arm, eyes darting around. “But enough about that. I see my own parents straight ahead. Come, Henry…”

Henry obliged, pausing only long enough to press his wineglass into my hand with a smile before following Oliver away.

I watched them go. Truly, they were a beautiful couple together and I wished them every…

I sighed.

“Philip!” I startled as Mother called for me. She was hastening toward me, Father in tow. “Come with me at once!”

What could they possibly want from me now that they were clasped firmly in the luxurious bosom of the Harvest Ball? 

Perhaps Mother wanted to dance with me? She had not since I was a child, but perhaps the joy of the evening...?

I grinned and followed her across the room. We weaved through well-dressed people and past the dance floor, to a corner of the room where an older couple stood waiting. They were dressed very well, perhaps not as well as Henry and Oliver, but far finer than us. Mother jerked me to a stop in front of them and curtsied. Father’s strong hand on my shoulder urged me to bow deeply.

“Philip, this is Jacob and Harriet Farthingham.”

I straightened my back carefully and held out a hand to the man. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Farthingham.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He returned evenly.

“The Farthinghams are the reason we are here, you see.” Mother babbled on, excitedly. “They’ve been out of town for so long and of course were very happy to see us when they returned. We are their guests tonight. They were anxious to meet you so we could complete this business already!” She tutted good naturedly, as if we were all in on an excellent joke.

Business…? 

Mrs. Farthingham smiled tightly. “Indeed. How fortunate to come to an agreement on so fine an event as the Harvest Ball.”

“But of course, we must wait on one more…” Mr. Farthingham cut himself off as his eyes fastened on someone standing behind me. 

I turned and observed a man, perhaps five years older than me, with a wine glass in hand. He detached himself from the dance floor and made his way over to us, eyes locked on me. 

He was taller than me by an inch or two, and with the ease of man unthreatened by those around him. He was handsome, with thin features and dark-brown eyes that pinned you to where you stood. 

I stared back with a sinking feeling in my gut. 

He stopped right before me and barely bowed his head. “Philip Mallory, yes?” He spoke my name in a lazy drawl. He looked over my head to his parents and nodded.

“Very well, then.” Mr. Farthingham reached for Father’s hand and shook it. “The details, as we discussed, Sir Mallory.”

“Aloysious, please.” Father turned to me. “Philip, meet your fiance, John Farthingham.”

No.

My parents and the Farthinghams kept speaking, but their voices echoed around me like stones being thrown against my tomb.

I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and turned to John Farthingham. His grip tightened firmly and he spoke right in my ear. “You should smile, Philip. After all, your future has just been redeemed from the flames of hell. And God knows it was perilously close.” 

I shook my head, dizzily. Mother was beaming at me, gesticulating excitedly about something. Someone else approached our small gathering and our parents turned to them. Wind rushed in my ears as voices raised around me in congratulations.

No. 

But it was.

I was such a fool. I should have known the moment Mother had opened her mouth and spoken to me, called my “dear” that this is what they had in mind. Should have confirmed it as soon as Father so much as acknowledged my presence.

I forced myself to focus again as Father and Mother gestured to the people around us, who were drawn to the hubbub and offered their congratulations. Father nodded, as though it were obvious they would land a match with another rich family, while Mother linked her arm with a stoic Mrs. Farthingham. John stood at my side, accepting congratulations, shaking hands. 

“Mr. Shawdun.”

I startled. Surely it had to be Henry’s father and he and Oliver remained on the other side of the room with Oliver’s parents. I trained my eyes to the ground.

“I believe congratulations are in order for our dear son!” Mother’s voice was ice. 

Before me stepped two sets of feet. Oliver’s heeled shoes. Henry’s black Hessians. I kept my eyes faithfully trained to the ground.

“Our dear son is to marry the illustrious John Farthingham, of Farthingham Enterprises,” Mother continued, her tone the most condescending of high nobility. “We of course would only want to marry him to someone who is worthy of him… Not desperate social climbers.” She tittered behind her hand. “I’m sure you understand. Philip is of course very pleased.” 

“Congratulations!” Oliver declared, blissfully unaware. “Philip, my friend, I wish you every happiness!”

I nodded at the ground. 

“Philip.” Henry’s tone was unreadable. I refused to look at him. “Philip.” 

His hand reached out to shake. What must he think? I looked up.

His eyes held a thousand questions. I could bear that, but I also saw… He pitied me.

“Congratulations, Philip.” His eyes held mine, searching. “I wish you every happiness.”

I did not want his pity. I didn’t want him standing there, his every prayer answered while I stood trapped once again. I couldn’t bear it.

“I…” My voice cracked. My throat was thick, I could not find the words. I could not speak or my eyes would flow over and he would see. I would die of the shame. I could only nod, mutely, shoving the wine glass back into his hand and reaching numbly to shake Oliver’s. Henry’s eyes narrowed before he looked away, and I thanked God for it as my view blurred and turned to Mother and Father.

“I… I need the necessary.” I blurted. “Be right back…”

 I stumbled from the room, chest heaving as I reached the door and all but fell down the stairs, away from the ball, the people… my new fiance.

I had barely made it to the carriage before I gasped, loud and undignified. I could not cry, could barely breathe, my back hurting, my shoulders shaking, my body unable to do anything but curl up in the seat and clench with misery. 

“Sir?” Through the fog, I heard the driver call to me, concerned. It must have been the fourth or fifth time he had called out. 

I cleared my throat. “We should leave.”

“I’m to wait for Sir and Madam Mallory, Sir.”

I couldn’t do this. “Yes. Yes, of course.” My lips were parched. “I think I’ll take a brisk walk, clear my head some.” I climbed out of the carriage again, aching.

“As you wish, sir.” 

I turned tail and ran.

I ran away from the carriage, the hall, my parents, my certain future. I ran from the place where impoverished nobility sold their children away and down into town. In a blur I passed houses, coffee shops and street sweepers. My shoes and hose splashed through the mud, my hat lost somewhere when it had fallen and I hadn’t stopped to retrieve it. As I dashed through a park, I could feel whispers following me, tongues wagging in curiosity. At the moment I did not care. I only had to get away from them--my parents, their greed, society itself; I could not bear to be among it a moment longer.

I ran until I had no more breath, until my feet collapsed under me and I fell to my knees on a dirty road in a dark, crowded alley. No sooner had I collapsed then my stomach rebelled and I threw up, bent over, heaving violently until my stomach was empty. 

A hand reached out and began to stroke my back softly. I whipped around to see who it was.

I looked up into the kind, worn eyes of Philip Chilton.

“There, now, lad. Get it all out.”

Of course it wasn’t Henry. He was back at the ball, laughing at the results of all my schemes and hopes, congratulating himself on dodging the poor match that I would have made. 

I held up a hand. “Thank you, I’m okay.” My voice didn’t sound like my own.

Philip smiled at me, crouching down to my level, hand still reassuringly clasping my shoulder. “There now, lad, you are a generous sort, sure enough, but a terrible liar.” He reached a hand under my chin and raised my face so I was looking into his eyes. They crinkled in concern. “You look like your own heart cracked in two.”

I stared at him, at his kind eyes, his papery skin, the careworn wrinkles.

I shook my head. “I have to be okay. It’s all my fault.” My breath came in gasps. “I should’ve known, should’ve thought ahead, done something to prevent this. No use crying about this.”

Phillip cupped my face gently between two veined hands. “Then why are you crying, lad?”

I felt it then. Tears poured down my face, unbidden. I tried to turn away, but there was no helping it. Phillip gently pulled me forward until my face was tucked into his worn out coat. The same one I had given him so many months ago. “Go on, lad. A good cry will sort you right out.”

My soul needed no extra urging. I cried like a child, sobbing without shame into Philip’s poor coat. His old hands stroked my back kindly, and he murmured quiet words that I couldn't make out. Words of care. He held me the way I imagined Margaret held young Billy when he became too overwhelmed by the ugliness of the world. A stranger who I had only met twice supported me with more care than my own mother and father ever had, and it made me cry more. For my anguish and frustration that their rank and rearing had turned them into the people they were, for everything they were doing to me, and at the anger I felt at myself that a tiny piece of me still inexplicably wanted to please them and make them happy. I cried for the feeling of being trapped that dogged me at every shadow, for my future chasing the tails of a rich man who I did not want to see again, and definitely didn’t want to marry. I cried for who I could have been had I been born utterly average, a free man marrying someone he could truly love. 

I cried until I could barely draw breath, could barely keep my eyes open. I was exhausted, body and soul. 

“There now, lad. Very well done.” Phillip whispered. I continued to lean against him, desperate for support. I was a dry shell that the nearest wind would blow away into nothing. “It gets harder as you get older to cry, but looks like you still got a bit of the lad in you yet.” He chuckled slightly, still rubbing my back. “Now let’s get you home, eh?”

“No.” I whispered. 

“Now what was that, lad? No? But I’m sure you mum and da are frightful worried about you.”

I huffed out a sour sound at that. “I can’t go home.” My eyes were closing of their own accord.

From above my head I heard Philip sigh. “Up you get, now, lad.”

“No… I won’t go home,” I mumbled.

“None of that now… You can’t sleep unprotected in the middle of the road, so you’ll come with me. We’ll get you home in the morning before your parents set the coppers on my tail.”

I sighed, rising with his help. Slowly, I lumbered after him, my surroundings a blur. The last thing I remembered was stumbling through a worn old house, up a flight of uneven, creaking stairs and dropping onto a splintery floor that smelled of age and hay. Philip said something to me, but I couldn’t make it out. I fell asleep.