Chapter 6
Charles stood at once. “You are certain?”
The servant looked at him; Erik recognised him – his name was Proudstar, an omega male, just like Hank and Charles himself. “Quite, sir.”
It was dark outside; far too late now to summon Mrs Xavier. Erik had barely noticed the time pass.
“Damn,” Charles said under his breath.
Erik looked up and caught his eye, but Charles said nothing, too distracted.
“Make him as comfortable as you possibly can,” Logan ordered.
“I should go to him,” Charles said, already moving away from the table. “Please excuse me.”
Erik stood too, in order to be polite; he looked over at Logan, but Logan’s gaze was downcast, frowning.
The door all but slammed as Charles followed the servant out; clearly he was anxious for his brother.
“You can’t go to him,” Emma said as soon as the door was closed. “The only way it would be appropriate is if you were engaged.” She paused. “And you are not.”
Logan’s lips were pursed. Erik knew that face; he was holding back a snarl. Emma was an icy little omega with faultless self-control; Logan’s blood ran much hotter, and his temper, if ever provoked, was more than a little fierce.
“Logan,” Emma said quietly. “This could very well be a ploy –“
Logan threw up a hand, cutting her off. “No, Emma,” he growled. “I have no wish to speak on it any longer. I have no desire to hear you cast aspersions on Henry Xavier while he is in even the slightest discomfort, while he is my guest, and vulnerable besides.” He drew a cigar from his pocket and held it between his teeth, lighting it with his steel striker. He offered another to Erik, and Erik accepted.
Emma sniffed. “Well, I won’t discard my suspicions simply because you are infatuated. Someone needs to be level-headed in this house.”
Erik raised his eyebrows at her, meaning, leave Logan alone til tomorrow at least.
She pouted. “I suppose you have no objections to the Xaviers throwing themselves at Logan, since you have changed your opinion over a shapely body and a pair of fine eyes.”
“Charles is nothing to me,” Erik said, before he could stop himself. It was an instinct, to be defensive with Emma. “I thought you liked Henry Xavier.”
“Oh, he is a sweet boy, certainly,” she replied, “but he is not.... well-bred. None of them are, and this is merely a pathetic attempt at entrapment. I've had enough of them."
~ ~ ~
“I’m fine, Charles,” Hank said, eyes closed, gripping Charles’ hand.
“You look dreadful,” Charles told him. It was true. Hank was drenched in sweat, skin flushed pink above the collar of his nightshirt.
“It’s not so bad, it’s bearable,” Hank replied, opening his eyes a little. “It’ll be done by tomorrow. Raven and I never have it as bad as you, anyway.”
This was true. Both Raven and Henry Xavier seemed to have a different biological makeup to their brother; their bodies took change much easier, could go from one state to another and back without real struggle, even if the heat itself was unpleasant. Charles found it harder. Mental and emotional strife he seemed more capable of handling; Raven sometimes knocked on his head jokingly and asked, “how do you keep it all in there?” Hank was patient, but not so much with children, and when he was provoked (rarely) into anger, he seemed almost a different person. Raven could go from effusive and gleeful to petulant with little prompting. Charles stayed measured, patience boundless even with children, and was ever seeking to be a peacemaker; ever seeking, too, to intuit the emotions of others, to better understand every person who crossed his path.
You’ll make a wonderful parent, everyone always told him. The heats are awful but someday they’ll be worth it.
“I hope it does pass soon,” Charles said, returning his gaze to Hank, having been lost in thought for a moment.
“It will, they’re always short. Besides,” Hank said, looking up at him, blue eyes full of humour, “my sore throat’s disappeared.”
Charles laughed despite himself.
“You should go to bed,” Hank told him, earnest. “I’ll be fine, there are servants. I feel terrible to be relying on Logan’s hospitality.”
“Don’t,” Charles said, smoothing his brother’s hair back. “He’s more than happy to have you.”
Hank smiled a little. “He is a good man.” Neither of them said more; neither needed to. Hank’s quiet affection for Mr Howlett had been clear for some time.
“I will leave you to rest,” Charles said eventually. “And Hank, don’t hesitate to have a servant wake me if you need me.”
“Of course,” Hank replied.
“I mean it,” Charles said, sternly. “You presume too often that you shouldn’t bother others. But we want to be bothered, Hank.” He was struck by how young his brother looked, without his glasses and laid up like an invalid, hair falling out of place. Hank was 19 now – with an impressive intellect, to be sure, but still the bashful manner of a younger omega (a shyness which seemed to have left Charles much earlier and bypassed Raven entirely).
“I will bother you if I need you,” Hank said, sincerely. “I can’t wait to be out of bed again. In the fresh air.”
“I’m sure,” Charles replied. “You’d make much better use than me of the weather today; I’ve been inside playing chess with Mr Lensherr.”
“You might at least call him Erik,” Hank teased, voice a little weak.
Charles shook his head. “So far he has proved himself to be perhaps tolerable in small amounts, and maybe not unintelligent, but nothing close to likeable. Not pleasant enough to tempt me,” he mocked, and Hank laughed.
“I exaggerate,” Charles admitted; “he has been surprisingly pleasant, considering our small history. I have not been unhappy while you’ve recovered.”
“I’m glad,” Hank said, yawning.
“You must rest, if you can,” Charles told him. “I’ll have a message sent home now, and I am sure Mother will come as soon as she can in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Hank said, with a soft smile. “Goodnight, Charles.”
“Goodnight, Hank. Good luck.”
“I’ll be fine,” Hank repeated, “it will be over soon enough.”
He is much stronger than me, Charles thought, as he left. To endure a heat unexpected, and not even in the comfort of my own home; I would be screaming the place down in frustration.
~ ~ ~
In the morning Charles was invited downstairs to take tea and breakfast with Miss Frost.
Logan came in almost as soon as they were seated. “How is Henry?” he asked immediately. “I hope you did not find him worse than you expected. Is he doing tolerably?”
“He seems likely to be… recovered by this evening,” Charles said, struggling to find the appropriate word. “He has been made most comfortable; I really must thank you again for your hospitality.” He had found Hank half asleep, and damp with sweat, but coping with his symptoms admirably.
Logan’s hair was a little curly today, escaping its pomade. He was a handsome man, Charles reflected; strong-jawed and broad-shouldered. He was a man of few words, but Charles had observed him a little over the last few days, and found that Logan was genuinely likable. He was frequently smoking, and had thick forearms, dusted with dark hair; a strong alpha, able to protect and provide for an omega. Like Hank, he seemed the type to be happy enough in his own company.
Charles was hesitant to presume or hope too much, but they seemed like they could be an excellent match – if Logan could get past this incredibly ill-timed heat of Hank’s, which it seemed he could. How awful for Hank, to endure a heat while surely suffocating under the scent of an alpha he desired but could not touch. Unpleasant for both of them, Charles was sure.
“Your mother has been summoned, I assume?” Miss Frost asked, immaculate as usual.
“Yes,” Charles said, “I wrote to her last night; I expect her within the hour.”
“Very good,” said Logan. He had a gruff, gravelly way of speaking, but was doubtlessly sincere. Truly, Charles could not imagine him to ever be deceitful. Mr Lensherr was a little different – cold, at times, and certainly not a gregarious alpha, but perhaps not insincere either. It was Miss Emma Frost who presented the unpredictable factor, in this social game they were playing.
Sighing, Charles steeled himself for his mother’s visit.
~ ~ ~
“Perhaps he ought to stay until tomorrow,” said Raven earnestly, blonde curls coming untucked from her bonnet. “Don’t you think, Mama?”
“Certainly,” Mrs Xavier agreed, sipping her tea. “Perhaps even til Thursday.” Now that she was assured that her son would be well again soon, her concern was replaced by a desire to prolong his stay in whichever way possible.
Logan seemed more than happy to agree with her. “I would not hear of him being removed until he is absolutely recovered. I am sure my sister-in-law will agree.”
Emma offered a cold smile. “Of course. Henry has all my sympathies.”
Charles fought against his indignation at the tone she took; it would not do to let his emotions get the better of him (an omega stereotype which he utterly, utterly despised, and had always been determined to disprove through his own behaviour).
“You are so kind to take care of him,” their mother continued. “He is lucky to have such good friends, for I fear his health is always compromised at the most inconvenient of times –” here Charles saw Emma made a contemptuous face “ – although I declare he is always vastly patience when he is indisposed. He has the sweetest temper, you know, Mr Howlett; I am forever telling my other two children to follow his example.”
Raven scowled; Charles bit his tongue. Logan smiled. Not the polite smile of a host, but the genuine smile of one hearing something commedatory about someone beloved. Charles saw this, and was gratified.
“It is a beautiful room which you have put Henry in,” Mrs Xavier said; “the view over the drive is quite lovely. You must be pleased, Mr Howlett, with Netherfeild.
“Indeed, it is a beautiful place. I love it as much as I love the city; I daresay I could not choose between them,” Logan replied. “I confess I have been known to quit one for the other at a moment’s notice; but for the meantime, I am happy here.”
“Well certainly you have to stay in town long enough to give a dance,” Raven said, almost bouncing out of her seat. “The officers are in town for another fortnight! And I know you are friendly with them, as you dined with them not two days ago.”
Logan regarded her with amusement. “I will certainly hold a ball, but only Henry is recovered enough to dance with me.”
Raven and their mother were delighted by this answer; Charles was too preoccupied in wishing that the two of them would show a little more tact, if only for Hank’s sake.
And I am sure I can happily live without another evening where I attempt to enjoy myself without Mr Lensherr standing in the corner like some arrogant spectre, Charles thought to himself, crossly. Although last night he proved almost good company. Perhaps he will admit I have some intellectual merit, even if he does not think me sufficiently pretty.
Between Emma’s coldness, his sister’s forwardness and his mother’s transparency in her desire to have Hank and Logan in the same vicinity, Charles had had enough, and excused himself as soon as his mother made any mention of leaving. Claiming a headache, he made his way from the parlour to the same drawing room where the four of them had spent the previous evening.
~ ~ ~
Erik had chosen not to meet with Miss and Mrs Xavier, instead making some vague excuse. He already found Henry’s family intolerable (excluding Charles, perhaps), and had no wish to see Logan brave them, or Emma toy with them, like a cat with oblivious mice.
He was at the window writing to Janos when Charles Xavier burst into the room. Does he intend to make a habit of throwing open doors when I am entirely unprepared for him, Erik wondered.
“Will you do me the service of distracting me?” Charles asked, cheeks flushed.
Erik hastily gathered his thoughts. “Certainly. Shall we finish our game?”
Charles smiled; a strained, brief smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Please.”
They went together to the chess board, and made their first few moves each in silence.
Charles was chewing at his lower lip, looking not at all coy but truly distracted.
“You are distressed,” Erik observed, and immediately cursed himself for how stiff he sounded.
Charles huffed out a breath, and met his eyes. “Yes, I - I find myself anxious. About Hank – Henry’s situation. And about everything surrounding it.” He blinked.
“You are free to call him by his familiar name,” Erik said. “Logan has adopted it.”
Charles did smile, then, bright-eyed and undeniably pretty.
He does not wish to observe that they are becoming close, Erik thought, for fear that he might somehow jeopardise it. And I can hardly make the observation myself; it would not do to give too much away. There is nothing less decorous than a hasty courtship.
“So how do you know Mr Howlett,” Charles asked, after a minute.
“Truthfully, we were the only ones in our circle of acquaintances that the other could bear, when we were young.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Neither of us were particularly sociable, and our arguments did lead us to blows at times, before we learned to control our tempers and agreed to be friends. He likes to say that we are two lone wolves forced together for want of better company,” Erik said, smiling despite himself.
“And Miss Frost?”
“We met her when she was engaged to Logan’s brother, Victor. She was widowed not long after their marriage, and we absorbed her into our circle. She is good for Logan – she manages the house well, she manages everything to do with society. She is a singular woman. We were instantly attracted to each other – in a purely platonic sense,” he hastened to clarify, “which surely you have observed.”
Charles smirked. “You do share certain similarities. I confess sometimes I forget she is not an alpha.”
Amused, Erik met Charles’ eye. “She is not, by any means, a timid or submissive woman.”
Charles raised his eyebrows and made a face of agreement. Erik felt a sense of victory.
Their conversation came easier after that, but by dinnertime Erik could not have recalled a thing they’d said. His attention had been occupied by Charles’ voice – pleasant, soft, but strong – and by his remarkable eyes. And his hands, deft and slender, often almost within reach of Erik’s.
After dinner, Charles and Henry Xavier were finally gone, sent home in Logan’s best carriage, pulled by Logan’s best horses, farewelled by Logan himself.
Emma was talking about how she was thinking of returning to London “just for a change. Just for something else to do; it’s boring here. We’ll never convince Janos to come and enjoy the countryside,” she said with a pointed little sniff, making it clear that the countryside and its lifestyle offered little to her either. “I’d dearly love to see him again.”
These sweet tones didn’t work on Erik, but they still had a little of a sisterly charm for Logan. Logan was a softer alpha than Erik; not necessarily good with omegas and children, but willing to try – willing to be cheerful and sociable, at least sometimes, and genuinely mean it; willing to listen to Emma.
“I’m going out,” Logan said. “My mare needs her legs stretched, I’ll take her now.”
Erik smirked to himself; that was one method of avoiding Emma for the evening.
Idly, he wondered if Emma would ever settle down. He loved her very much, loved her ambition; loved how cruel she could be, when their eyes met and they shared an unkind thought; loved how relentless she was, for an omega. Yes, he loved her; but the only people who had ever expected he and Emma to make a match were people who didn’t know them at all.
Logan wasn’t unkind, just often uninterested, apathetic; his gruffness could come off as impolite, so he would always try his hardest. Emma had taught him to have a pleasant countenance, to smile whenever possible. “Stop scowling, both of you.” And now the Xavier boy – Henry Xavier – Hank – making Logan soft-eyed and endlessly agreeable. How much more difference will come to be between us, Erik thought.
Emma was amused by the way Charles had caught his attention after his initial declaration of indifference, but she treated it like a game; she had always had bigger things in mind for him. “You must make an illustrious match,” she said to him in her sugar-sweet voice, catching him by the door before he retired. “Logan is a wild beast, he does what he wants and damn what society thinks, but you at least will be respectable.” She smoothed his hair back. “I know it, Erik. You belong with someone regal, a worthy match, sweetheart, not a muddy little urchin of an omega like Charles. We’ve had our fun in this quaint little place. Soon we’ll be back in the city. You can leave him behind.”
When Erik came into his room, he saw that the blue shirt was folded & laid on his bed.
He picked up the shirt; it still smelled faintly of Charles, though it had been washed. He held it up to his face, pressed his lips to it, inhaled deeply. Erik had never scented an omega, never been so far into a courtship - or even in a courtship at all. Even this was enough to make him feel something, in his throat, in his chest. He inhaled again, hungrily. Charles.
“What are you doing, Lensherr,” he asked himself softly. “No Xavier is destined to be your husband. Forget this madness. Let him go.”
Charles had been polite enough these past few days – indeed, even a pleasant change of company. Erik cursed himself for being so quick to judge. Not handsome enough to tempt me, he had said, and yet. Charles had matched him at chess, had proven himself well-read and insightful; Erik had even enjoyed their conversation, instead of “sulking in the corner,” as Emma claimed he was often wont to do.
But there would be other omegas. There always were. Certainly, Charles’ father was a gentleman, but Erik could make a better match; Emma was determined for him to make a better match. There would be someone in London better suited to him, he told himself. They would not be here forever; in fact, he could leave on his own, if he liked. He could go back to London, drink whiskey, play cards with Janos.
He could leave Charles Xavier here in Westchester, if he wanted, and never think of him again.