Day Eleven
Day Eleven:
On the eleventh day of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you, Bridgerton AU Part Three
Logan could do nothing but stare back at Leo. His blond hair looked bright in the moonlight, a white-gold that made his eyes seem even paler, almost silver. Even his tuxedo looked paler, the black bleeding out into the night and replaced by a fairer gray-white. Leo wasn’t holding their cups of punch anymore and his fingers curled at his sides, empty.
Logan felt too exposed. Not even the circle of tall trees helped. Not even the fountain, whose trickling at least did something to fill the silence. The crickets, too, all around them. No one had ever seen him and Finn like this. This close and curled against each other. Finn had released Logan immediately, stumbling backwards and catching himself on the edge of the fountain. Logan could only watch him from the corner of his eye, unable to take his gaze off of Leo.
For so many, this was a nightmare. A lover, a garden. A dark night, a full moon. An intruder and prying eyes. Logan’s mind took him through two thousand possibilities, as it had so many times before. With all the wonderful things that came with loving Finn—waking up to his warm skin and his familiar voice, having his hand to hold on evening walks—there also came all the things they were both afraid of. The first of which had become a reality when Noelle had met Finn on the staircase up to Logan’s room. But Noelle was Noelle. Logan could never be afraid of her.
This was Lord Leo Knut. He had every connection, ever possible good fortune in the world. He had just danced with Logan—three times—only to find him kissing and confessing his love (if he had even heard that part) to another boy. He had every single right and means to put into reality everything that Logan and Finn feared.
So why, why wasn’t Logan more afraid of him?
“God, I’m—” Leo began, and fell a step back, too, just as Finn had. He looked down at the grass between them, as if that would restore their privacy and undo what had just happened. “I’m so sorry, I…I didn’t mean…”
Logan tried to form the words he wanted, but all he seemed to be able to do was look at Finn, and then at Leo. Finn was still clutching the lip of the fountain with white knuckles, frozen into place. A summer breeze picked up, and his ruffling hair and rapidly rising chest were the only things giving him away as a human and not one of the statued Greek figurines that forever poured the water out of their amphorae.
Leo seemed to be having the opposite problem. His hands were nervous at his sides, and he stumbled over his words. “I worried…You never came back, so—And I thought maybe something was—Whatever made you go, you looked so surprised, or perhaps I thought scared, and so I wanted to make sure—”
“It’s all right, Leo,” Logan finally managed, then looked back at Finn, who’s eyes were wide and afraid. “Finn, it’s okay. He’s—he’s a friend.”
Logan didn’t know what made him say it. They’d only just met, but something was there, obviously, keeping Logan calm. Or maybe it was what wasn’t there. Nothing about Leo’s face told Logan he was about to go running to tell. Nothing about his face looked horrified, either. It was obvious Finn was a servant by the way he was dressed, but Leo made no confused glances or questions. He was looking respectfully away, head bowed, hands behind his back—fingers twisting together furiously by the looks of it.
“I’m was just going,” Finn said suddenly, and bowed to Logan. “My Lord.”
Logan’s heart lurched.
Finn bowed to Leo. “My Lord.”
Logan reached out and caught Finn’s hand. “Don’t. Finn, don’t, it’s all right—”
Finn just closed both of his hands around Logan’s and squeezed firmly, his back towards Leo. He looked more nervous than before, cheeks high in color, brown eyes a little wild. He kept his voice low. “We will see each other tomorrow. We will. Remember what I said—”
“No,” Leo called. “Sir, please, it was my intrusion.”
“Logan, please trust me,” Finn whispered when Logan wouldn’t let him go.
Logan could only shake his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I know,” Finn whispered. “I know you don’t, and—and I will explain it all, I promise.” He glanced back towards Leo. “Only not now.”
Finn’s hand slipped through Logan’s fingers and he watched his red hair disappear into the night with nothing but the slight rustle of his footsteps in the grass. He was only partially aware of Leo stepping towards him, his fingers brushing his arm.
“Logan,” Leo said gently, and when Logan looked at him, he was gazing after Finn, eyes puzzled.
“Please, don’t look at him like that,” Logan said softly. “He’s not—Don’t tell me you care that he’s…”
“No,” Leo said. “God, no, what must you think of me? It was only…I feel as though we have met before. I only can’t quite place him.”
Logan was too exhausted to bring up the markets, or the cooking. Tomorrow, Finn had said. They would next see each other tomorrow. Not tonight. Not at home. Logan tried to think of why, why would he not tell Logan to come with him now, or even to meet him at home like they had planned.
Only, Logan thought of his mother back in the ballroom. She was probably throwing a silent fit. No doubt people had seen him rush out. At least Leo had waited some moments, but wasn’t that Logan’s oldest trick in the book? I’ll go, you wait five minutes, and then follow.
“We should go back,” Logan said softly. “This isn’t…”
“If you say proper, I’ll remind you that we are practically engaged.”
Logan looked up at him sharply, but only to see that Leo was smiling hesitantly.
“That was a joke,” Leo said softly. He held out his arm. “I…you don’t have to explain anything to me, my Lord. Logan. We hardly know each other. Only I ask—please let me escort you back inside. We can show our faces, and then you can do whatever you wish. We don’t have to dance, we don’t have to talk. You can even make your goodbyes.”
Logan could only stare at him. It was a risk, it was all a risk. “Aren’t you worried—”
“Logan,” Leo said gently, and put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I have nothing to fear. I’m privileged in that way. I am lucky. I’m not worried about anything. What could I have to fear? People saying that the most handsome boy in the room has taken me to the gardens for a midnight stroll?”
“I have a reputation,” Logan reminded him, flush on his cheeks. “It is a midnight one, but it’s certainly not for strolling.”
The smile Leo gave him was surprisingly sharp, eyes turning playful. “Then I should be so lucky.”
Logan couldn’t explain it, but his breath caught in his chest at seeing such a look on Leo’s face.
“I…” Logan shook his head. “I don’t know why he ran away. I mean, I do, but…” He looked in the direction Finn had gone. “I don’t know…” We will see each other tomorrow. Remember what I said.
“He was scared,” Leo said and began guiding Logan back towards the ballroom. “You were, too, when you first saw me. I could tell.”
“I was surprised,” Logan said. “There’s a difference.”
The garden became brighter as they ascended the stairs back up to the patio. They stood for a moment, watching the dancers whirling within.
“At least one of us doesn’t look like they’ve been snogging,” Leo said, and it startled a laugh out of Logan, who put a hand to his mouth.
“God, do I?”
Leo smiled. “No. You look…” He took a breath. “You look…you look very well.”
“Thank you,” Logan said softly. The most handsome boy. The fact that Leo still saw him that way after what he had just done…Logan didn’t know what to make of that. Looking at Leo in the warm light, he wanted badly to reach up and brush back that gray wave of hair, mixing it into the blond that feathered back in Leo’s soft curls.
“Shall we? You look conflicted still.”
“No,” Logan said. “I mean, yes, we should, but…”
Leo tilted his head. “But?”
“I don’t know why but…I know you won’t hurt me. Or him.”
Leo just looked down at him, and shook his head. “No. I won’t.”
~
Logan woke up the next morning feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. He had kept waking in the night, thinking he had heard the creak of his door, felt a dip in his bed, felt Finn coming to him, finally, with an explanation. Logan couldn’t think what he had done. What could be so rash? What could go so wrong? He pushed himself up in his bed, and it felt too big to be alone in. His chambers, too—looming and empty and cold, even in the summer morning. They had felt that way ever since Finn had stopped sneaking upstairs at night. He looked outside at the bright sky. Finn would be downstairs now. Logan would have breakfast, and then corner him. He’d make up some excuse for Mrs. Hawk to steal him away from his duties. Logan groaned and pushed himself out of bed. He didn’t know what excuse. It wasn’t like he was prone to accompanying the staff to the markets.
When he finally made his way down to the breakfast table, it was to chatter that sounded too loud. Even the clink of cutlery was too much—and Logan wasn’t even hungover, he was just a wreck. Nervous and worried for Finn—guilty about Leo.
“Little brother,” Noelle greeted him.
Logan just sat down, distastefully eyeing the way she was clacking her spoon against her boiled egg.
“Late riser,” Sydney said. “Are you going to tell us where you disappeared to last night now?”
Noelle leaned in. “You and Knut.”
His mother sighed. “The entire ballroom was talking about it, Logan, and not in the way we wanted exactly—”
“What do you do with your boys in gardens, Lolo?” Sydney asked, and Logan’s mother shushed her.
“It doesn’t matter,” his mother said in matter-of-fact voice. “A Knut is a Knut, and nothing can change that. Not even my son who romps around like—oh well, a Knut is a Knut.” She laughed happily. “And he volunteered. Good gracious, Logan, you have done well.”
“That sounds like something out of a nursery rhyme,” Noelle said, then put on a very posh accent. “A newt is a newt, an egg is an egg. Never, oh, never ask ladies their age!”
“Everyone be quiet, please,” Logan sighed and took a small bite of toast.
“But—” his mother began, though Logan was saved by the butler coming in with the morning mail.
“Oh, oh, new Whistledown!” Noelle called, and gestured for it. “Bring it here, Morris, if you please. Thanks.”
Logan didn’t even want to think about Whistledown right now. “Save it for later, would you, Noelle. God knows what’s in there.”
Noelle just scoffed and tucked it by her plate so she could read while she ate. “Exactly. We better be prepared.”
“Did you just go walking?” Sydney asked. “Lily says she saw you bolt outside and leave poor Knut alone, only for him to follow you later.”
“That is one of his old tricks,” his mother said.
“You are not supposed to know that, mum,” Sydney laughed, and his mother just smiled and sipped her tea.
“Um,” Noelle said.
“Stop,” Logan sighed. “Honest. I don’t want to hear it. We just walked. Nothing happened.”
“Um,” Noelle said more loudly, holding up the latest Whistledown and fixing Logan with a hard stare. “Excuse me.”
“What did she say?” Sydney asked. “Is it about Logan and Lord Knut?”
“It’s about Logan, all right, but—” Noelle fixed Logan with a pointed stare. “When were you going to tell us—when—Jesus Christ, I—when were—” She slapped the pamphlet down. “You’re courting Whistledown?"
Logan frowned, looking up from his eggs and toast. “Huh?”
Noelle all but shoved the pamphlet in front of him, and Logan narrowed his eyes at her when it nearly upset his tea, but picked the paper up.
“Noelle, what are you talking about?” their mother asked.
Logan didn’t have to look far to find his own name. He passed by remarks about a worker’s strike to read later, some others about the Queen’s expenses, until finally, he found whatever had made Noelle shriek so in the pamphlet’s famous slanted type.
Logan Tremblay and Leo Knut danced three times at the Queen’s ball last night. The diamond of the season—though Tremblay was mysteriously absent to see himself be named—and the handsome Lord Knut made a fine pair. Anyone who is anyone knows how rare a true Tremblay smile is, and Lord Knut had him positively laughing.
Many speculate this is a sure match, that we are to expect a proposal in no time—and what a season treat would that be.
But I’m afraid that this Author has other intentions.
Logan frowned. He set his toast down.
This Author is not who you expect, dear Reader, though they are sure that you all prefer the mystery of it all—this Author favors it, too. It has been exceedingly compelling, a fine way to fill the late hours of the night, our correspondence. But our time as two estranged confidants has come to an end. This Author’s true identity means more to them than ever.
While this Author may write about ballrooms, they do not dance within them.
While this Author may critique the latest fashions, they do not wear them.
And yet this Author made you believe they belonged in the same rooms you occupy, dear Reader. Did you not believe me? You did.
And so—one final question to pose to you before I uncloak myself, and depart: If you, dear Reader, could not guess that I was not one of you, how different can I be? I, in my real life below the ballrooms and below you all.
While this Author writes about the loves and losses of your world, dear Reader, can they not feel them just as keenly?
This Author thinks they can. In fact, he knows it.
This Author knows love, a universal subject. He knows love for Lord Logan Tremblay. He is in love with him, and he wishes to request the first dance at tonight’s Starlight Ball, should the Lord permit it—please. This Author can explain everything.
Logan put his fingers to his mouth. “Oh…”
“Whistledown is a servant…” Logan’s mother breathed, staring wide-eyed at her own copy. “Logan, I don’t…I don’t understand. Do you know this person?”
“Logan.” Noelle’s voice this time—knowing. Understanding. “Logan, do you mean to tell me that…All this time, is this the writing of—”
But Logan shook his head, gesturing for her to be silent, because suddenly it was clear in his mind. There had always, always been something he liked about the Whistledown pamphlets. Something almost familiar about the way the author spoke, the way she wrote. She tore people down, yes, but only those who deserved it. She poked fun at Logan himself, yes, but never in a way that was ruinous.
Even here, with Leo, Logan had been merely portrayed as desirable. He and Leo both had.
All the times he had read aloud from the pamphlet to Finn. All those times, had he merely been reading Finn’s own words back to him?
You don’t love it? Logan could remember asking Finn recently when he’d barely had a reaction at all to a Whistledown piece. The writing had fiercely and openly supported a Lady in Kent who was to marry her driver. Look at this Finn, Whistledown would be for us, too. And he hadn’t been able to understand it when Finn had merely given him a soft smile, a casual nod, a stroke of a hand down Logan’s cheek. Yes, I think so, Lo.
Logan pushed back from the table without a word. He didn’t care that he was leaving behind stunned faces, didn’t care that he nearly knocked one of the maids down as he blew through the dining room doors. He had to get to him. He had to get to Finn. He thundered down the servant’s staircase, whipped around the corner and dashed down the hallway until he reached the kitchens. They all had probably heard him coming, because they were much stiller than usual when he arrived, flushed and out of breath. Mrs. Hawk was poised by the ovens, wringing her hands in her apron, her brown hair curling around her kind, aging face.
“Mrs. Hawk,” Logan said, out of breath. “Mrs. Hawk…”
Logan scanned the kitchens as best he could. Finn wasn’t in sight. Not at the work tables, not at the stoves, or the ovens. Outside? Fetching milk perhaps?
“Yes, my Lord? Breakfast is upstairs, you know.”
“Oh,” one of the maids chimed in. She was clutching Whistledown to her chest. “Who is it, my Lord? Who are you in love with?”
“Maisie,” Mrs. Hawk hissed, and Maisie ducked.
“It’s only romantic, that’s all…” Maisie mumbled.
Logan’s eyes caught on her, on the phrase. Romantic. He shouldn’t have come down here. What had he been thinking? He’d give Finn right up asking about him after that declaration, and he’d lose his job, or he’d—God, what was he doing?
Maisie put that together just about as fast as him. She gasped.
“Oh gosh, is he—is he here? Does he work here, my Lord?”
Mrs. Hawk waved a hand at her. “Maisie.”
“No,” Logan said quickly, not knowing what else to say. “No, I—I only wanted…” He tried desperately to think of something he could have wanted from downstairs. “Aspirin—my—a headache from last night, I…”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hawk said. “My Lord, do let us send things like that up to you, would you now.”
“Whistledown,” Maisie said, sounding delighted. “Did you know, sir? Did you know?”
Logan tried to plead with her with his eyes to please stop.
“My Lord, pardon me,” came a voice from behind Logan, and he turned, feeling dizzy.
“Yes?” Logan asked the butler, Morris. “Yes, Morris?”
“Sir,” said Morris again. “Lord Knut has called on you this morning.”
“Oh,” came a muffled gasp from Maisie—even Mrs. Hawk seemed to allow herself to succumb some to the drama of it all.
Logan blinked, pressed a hand over his heart to feel its pounding. “Really.”
“I have seated him in the South parlor,” Morris said in his low, smooth voice. “Shall I bring tea?”
Leo. Leo was here. Leo had no doubt read Whistledown. And Leo had seen him and Finn. Last night. If anyone but him, and Noelle, knew who Finn really was then it would be Leo.
“Yes,” Logan said. He pushed a shaky hand through his hair. “But wait. Not in the South parlor.”
[TBC post-Winterfic…this story has taken over my brain, gotten so much longer than I had thought originally, and I’m loving it…:)]