valentin-talbot

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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Florence pressed her lips together as she considered Valentin’s assessment. It seemed too good to be true that everything was now in the past, and now all was forgiven. Though perhaps society was fickle enough that she ought not look a gift horse in the mouth and simply enjoy it while it lasted. “Perhaps,” she conceded but that’s all she could give. Did she really deserve best? Perhaps…perhaps not. Still..she could hope for a nicer married life than she used to. 

At Valentin’s compliment of Abbernath, Florence smiled. “He strikes me as the kind of person that doesn’t need music to dance with someone,” she admitted shyly. It was a terribly romantic notion, something Florence generally tried to avoid, but as she said it, Florence could imagine dancing with him in a garden, away from the noise of a party. Her fair brows rose at the thought of inviting Abbernath to Tynthesfield. Would he find the garden charming, and the trees marvelous? “Goodness..he did say that perhaps he might to see a place with marvelous trees,” Florence admitted shyly. “Surely we’d have some he would like, don’t you think?”

Valentin huffed out a chuckle. “You might be right about that,” he said, imagining easily how Lord Abbernath -- Abby -- could strike excitement even in the dullest of places. Like lightning. 

“Rivers, hills and trees, yes. Some might even be a wonderful background for a dance. Just promise me this, little sister, you will always follow your heart. Don’t be skewed by previous opinions. If ever you feel something weird, trust this feeling and come to me, will you? Especially-... Especially before you make any grand decisions.” Which felt almost fraud to say, seeing how long he had kept his secret from her. So he reached across the table and placed his hand, softly, over hers. “And don’t fault me for wanting the best for you.” 

#florence #august 7

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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If Florence could wear her hair down, she would be playing with it. The youngest Talbot trailed after Valentin, taking a seat beside him. “You need not spare my feelings, Valentin. I may not understand the complexities of our circumstances, but I am aware that many families would not consider me suitable,” she reminded him quietly. They had the prince’s favor, and that went quite a long ways but it did not clear the Talbot name completely.

Still..it would be wonderful if Lord Abbernath would consider it..consider her. She had to marry eventually, and she could believe that married life with him would be nice.

Valentin’s question prompted a sharp pain in her chest, but still, Florence nodded. She did like him, quite a lot in fact. “He is kind, and not to simply be polite. He’s genuinely kind.” Their talk of sliding down banisters, and climbing in trees..it was unlike conversation she’d had before. And then they had! Sliding down the banister together had been exhilarating. It was easy to imagine them doing it again. She thought back on their time and conversations, and shook her head. “Of course not, he was a perfect gentleman,” Florence insisted. They need not discuss that they actually went down banisters, or held hands, or any of that really. “Goodness Valentin, don’t you think he’s lovely?”

“Oh, trust me, Florence. Our scandal is-...” Nothing compared to the ones following Lord Weston. He didn’t say it. Something held him back. What was it? Hope, perhaps? Hope that Abbernath was perhaps honest, after all? Valentin had scolded him once, hadn’t he? For being too flighty, too dishonest? What if this was him, Abbernath, changing, at last? “Our scandal is basically of the past. We did well this season. Alastair is getting married to the daughter of a Duchess, and you were endorsed by the King himself. You’re fine. You deserve the best of the best, and no one will run their mouth about it.” And if he wasn’t? What if Abbernath was trying to get to Valentin through Florence? No. He couldn’t know they were related, Valentin had been too careful. Hope was the only way. 

And as Florence went on to talk about Abbernath, Valentin was reminded of all the moments at the club that night when he had enjoyed himself. When Abbernath had indeed been kind. Interesting and interested. Genuine. Genuinely kind. And then came that question, and Valentin could no longer harbour his distaste. What was left was only fondness. Fondness for a man who had won Benny’s heart as well, and who was, after all, perhaps respectable after all. His smile softened. “He’s a brilliant dancer.” He picked up a tomato with his fork. “Then what are you waiting for? Invite him over at once! I do long to meet him now.”

#august 7 #florence

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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Florence nodded as he spoke of the wedding. Dimly, she recalled thinking it was either very romantic that they wished to wed so quickly, or very stupid. Evidently it might have been both, but she couldn’t tell Valentin that. He didn’t seem to have the same aversion to getting married that she did, but it sounded like perhaps marriage wasn’t all that bad for the man, if there was one involved. Valentin continued with his explanation, and her brows rose at the thought of a lord of the night. The youngest Talbot did not anticipate it being as commonplace as all that, but apparently it was! She hummed for a moment. It was heartening to know that it perhaps wasn’t as bad as she was imagining, but there was no shaking her trepidation fully. Florence nodded. “That is good to know,” she said finally, not entirely sure how much she believed his married lady friends.

Florence frowned. “Of course I mean Lord Abbernath Weston,” she answered. “Goodness, who else?” She shook her head at her brother. Why would Valentin have such a strong reaction to his name? Her lips formed a small ‘oh’ at the shocked mention of a Question… Perhaps Valentin was right..it would be a preposterous idea. Her heart sank a little, plunged back into the reality of her situation. As lovely as her suitors had been, there would be no easy course of action, not really. Lord Abbernath Weston would surely require a bride untainted by scandal. Still, it hurt that the reminder came from Valentin, of all people. “I…I suppose he wouldn’t,” she admitted slowly. Her shoulders dropped a bit, losing some of the prim posture that was trained into her in childhood. “I imagine one of the St. Maur sisters, or the Forrester sisters, would be more to any suitor’s liking,” Florence speculated quietly. “It..it would be quite generous of him, if he were to spare me a moment. Of course it’s all moot anyway..he spends most of his time in London. St. Maur would be awfully dull for him.”

Her disappointment was nearly palpable. Never had she considered such a thing and now that she had, there was no getting away from the fact that her duty to her family would be to take precedence over any offer. “I am not anticipating any sort of Questions from any suitor,” she added, lest he think that she would decline a sensible offer for reasons that were not sensible.

He nodded. Yes. Yes, it was good to know. How matter how awkward it had been for him to say all this, it was important for Florence to know. Even if, down the line, she realised she did not enjoy sleeping with her husband, or any men, or any one, for that matter, it was important that she knew that, well, that there could be some beauty to it. As shocking as society made it out to be, it wasn’t all bad. After all, in the best of cases, it was love. And what was bad about love?

“On the contrary,” he muttered, and finally sat at the table. “It would be very generous of you to accept him.  I doubt he’s ever met, known, or gotten to befriend anyone as pure and lovely as you.” The idea that Lord Abbernath I Kiss People Without It Meaning Anything Weston could fall for his sister enough to ask the big Question was preposterous.

Or was it?

"Do you like him, Florence? Was he-, was he good to you? He did not try to ... seek closeness of any kind when you two were ... having fun?” 

#august 7 #florence

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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Florence pressed her lips together but did not disagree with Valentin, though she quite wanted to. Why should the men get to know everything? Why should women have to resort to relying on a husband for yet another thing? The notion that she would have found out on her wedding day was utterly preposterous! She would have had to walk down the aisle, all those eyes looking at her, with the newfound knowledge that she would be expected to undress in front of her husband? Surely Florence would have fainted with all that pressure. She smiled when he agreed with her, and if nothing else, she would have a much better understanding of what marriage would entail before the wedding was even planned. His comment had her grinning and nodding.

Then, her brows shot up at the sudden question, then drew together in confusion. “Lord Abbernath and I met at the masquerade ball,” she explained. “Do you know him, then? He was wonderful at the ball.” Florence gave a little sigh at the memory of their time together. “And we had such conversation! No suitor has ever spoken to me of sliding down banisters, or climbing trees. Imagine! He didn’t even think it was silly of me to sketch in the garden even though watercolors are more fashionable,” she continued, as if these were the most important qualities in a potential suitor, which Florence certainly hoped Lord Abbernath would be. No other gentleman who was potentially interested in her had his whimsical nature. “Do you think he might venture to St. Maur? Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

Florence said to no more to the topic, and Valentin had never felt more relieved. And yet, he felt obliged to at least close it in a friendly manner. “Do you remember a few years back,” ten exactly, “when we were invited to Lord Stuncher’s wedding but the Baron wouldn’t let us because they had gotten a special license? Because usually you’re supposed to plan your wedding for months and be engaged for a while, but they were really pressed to do it quickly, so they got their special license and married within a week of being engaged? Well. The reason for that is because they-, they did do the-... They got into bed with each other before marriage, and she was with child. So they had to hurry. And because that’s a very, very naughty thing to do, the Baron didn’t want our family to attend and be attached with such a reputation.” Valentin too had needed a few years to figure it out, even if his education had come in the same year. “What they tell us, when they tell us, is that men have a far greater urge to be ... naughty. So they tell us, when they tell us, that if ever that should be the case, we should at least do our very best to stay away from reputable ladies.” He took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t say it in so many words, but that’s what those ladies of the night are, you know, the one’s we’re always warned about? They’re the not-reputable ladies we’re-... men are supposed to be ... naughty with.” He shuddered. Not at the idea of ladies of the night, but at the awful, dehumanising lesson. Where had he been going with this anyway? Oh. Right. “But you know, I heard of a grand Duchess once, she got lords of the night to her bed every night. And-, and-... Well. I have quite a few married lady friends now and they do promise me that it’s not at all awful or shocking or distressing to them.” Yes. That was the point of it all. Because no matter how unjust and flawed the system was, the one thing he did not want for Florence was to be scared of her wedding night. Not if she had the right man. 

Which, honestly, he had no idea if that was or could ever be Lord Abbernath Weston. Nevertheless, Florence talked about him as though he was this perfectly innocent, pure-hearted creature, and Valentin stared at her with a gaping mouth. “I-... Lord Abbernath Weston?” he made sure they were talking about the same man. Then again, the unorthodox activities of what she spoke of did sound like it could come only from him. “I don’t know but-, But Florence. If he does, you don’t think he’ll do it with a Question, do you?” He meant to make it sound curious and excited, instead he sounded a little appalled. 

#florence #august 7 #big ramble but then they can shut up abt the topic i promise

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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“I suppose for the gentleman, but my name wouldn’t be given to my children, and I wouldn’t have a title to bestow either,” Florence pointed out, far more concerned with the faulty logic than anything else. Pandora’s box was, unfortunately, quite open. Still, her fair brows drew together as she followed his explanation. “It seems terribly flawed, then, that young ladies are not informed of these things sooner. Imagine, if this wasn’t imparted upon me on me debut, I would have no idea what was to follow the wedding. Assuming of course, I was proposed to,” Florence chattered along, unaware of how little Valentin cared for the conversation.

“And having children! Did you know that being with child meant actually being with child! And it involves eggs..somehow. Thoroughly astonishing, if you ask me,” Florence added, shaking her head. What eggs had to do with children she didn’t know, but that lovely fellow had mentioned them. Valentin’s question had her humming in thought. “No, I think i would be quite alright with Zachariah,” she murmured. Zachariah had no interest in causing her harm. “However if a suitor from London showed up on our doorstep while I was alone at Tynthesfield, I think I would be quite distressed. Except perhaps Lord Abbernath,” Florence continued, thinking on their whimsical conversation. No, Lord Abbernath would not cause her harm either, the youngest Talbot was quite certain.

“Truly, this is all very odd still, though I know that for most it is all common fare,” Florence sighed. “And all this would fall to my husband, if I ever acquired one. I shudder to think how one would broach the subject. I wonder why they explain such things to boys and not to girls.”

“That’s true...” Valentin admitted. He’d never quite thought about it like that. He supposed if the woman’s part was completely insignificant about blood line, then any gentleman could just marry a baker’s daughter though. So there was something about keeping the family alive, wasn’t there? He didn’t feel sure enough about it to argue, though.

“I suppose-...” he tried to explain about what Florence had indeed made quite clear was a flawed way of doing things -- things which really were difficult to explain, “I suppose, they don’t want to shock young ladies. And-, and anyway. If the men know, well, there’s not much of a point for the ladies to know, is there? After all, when time comes for them to-, to-, to-... You know. For them to do it, the knowing husband would be there to explain it.” He really didn’t want to sit down for lunch right now, so he busied himself with putting on the kettle. “Or rather, show it. You know. On the wedding night? At least that’s the way I-, they explained it to us. Though, a friend of mine he-, he said that his mother knew, and his sister, too. Because they were told by their respective mothers on the wedding day. I suppose that works, right?” He scrunched up his nose, and a little more certain than previously, he added: “Not that I think it’s sensible! I do ... agree. It’s quite ... flawed.” 

Maybe it was that new-found certainty, maybe it was the fact that he was finally getting out of his own head, but he could look at Florence as she continued to protest now, and despite himself, a tiny smile suddenly appeared on his lips. “Like chicken.” 

Valentin jolted when he heard the name Abbernath. Him again! “How do you know Lord Abbernath?!” he spluttered, suddenly absolutely convinced that the mysterious educator at the Debutante Ball was Abbernath himself. Who else! Of course it would be him! “And why would you not be distressed around him!” Out of all people. 

#florence #august 7 #m: abbernath

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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“The reason people get married?” Florence echoed, confusion furrowing her brow. “Do..do we not marry because we are supposed to? Is it not one’s duty to their family?” Of course, some married for love. But to tie one to another person, for the sole purpose of..whatever happened after clothes were removed seemed..poorly thought out, if she were honest. “So this is common knowledge, then. Well it certainly was not common to me.”  Valentin’s question had her tilting her head once more. “Goodness Valentin, I’m not to be alone with a man unless we’re related or married,” she reminded her brother. “Do you not think it is asking quite a lot to go from never being alone with a man to being undressed around one? Even if it is a husband..it is not as though I would be permitted time alone with a fiance. Would I?” now the questions came tumbling forth, her genuine curiosity more than enough to allow her to forget how scandalous the topic at hand was.

“You know, I don’t believe anyone has discussed that with me..do the rules of society change once one is engaged? I had always thought that things would be quite the same until one married..and even then, the rules would only change with one’s husband. Would it not be quite distressing for me to be alone with a man not my husband?”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. It was happening. He had to say it, didn’t he? Cutlery clinking as he fumbled with it nervously, he said: “Yes, but-, Well. The duty of their is procr-... I mean.”  Florence’s directness didn’t help. It made anything he said like a fumbling, stumbling fool. “The duty of your family is to keep the blood-line alive, is it not? Carry on your name? The title? And-, Well. That’s why you get married. To have children.” Oh good Lord, please don’t have her ask how one is connected to the other now, please!  Luckily the next thing she complained about, Valentin felt a little less awkward about. Mostly because he had also always found this quite odd. “That’s quite true,” he therefore said, still sounding rather nervous with his airy, quiet voice, but at least he had stopped fidgeting. “I think that’s why that rule exists. They think that if you were permitted to just spend time with men alone, you would-...” Argh! No! “Well, this rule mostly applies to our class. In the working classes, men and women are allowed to spend as much time together as they want. But that’s also the reason why so many children are born out of wedlock, you see?” Yes! Good! “Our class is very scared that this would happen, so they just make sure young ladies don’t get to interact with young men, ever. Not before they’re in wedlock and allowed to ... undress and ... have ... children.” Terrible landing, but not too bad overall.

To the last question, he had no answer. Finding the courage to look at her between setting the table, he did so with a little frown. “Would it be distressing to you to be alone with a man now?” he asked. “If-... Oh, I don’t know. If Zachariah came in now, and I were to leave for half an hour to get us more butter from the shops. Would that distress you?”  “But-, But, yes, I suppose. Once you are married, the rules change. That’s what fidelity is all about. Once you are married, you promise before God that you won’t ever ... undress ... with another man. If you do, that’s unfaithfulness and cheating. So-...” Well. He couldn’t go into detail about how common he had learnt adultery to be, so instead he took another path: “So I think that’s why it’s okay for men and women to be alone together once married, because they no longer want to. I suppose-, I suppose for a man, all other women become like sisters to him, once he has a wife.” Very idealistic, but he refused to be more realistic about this. 

#august 7 #florence

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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It was nice to see  the little shift in Valentin. Whatever trepidation was there gave way to a smile, and even a laugh. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Florence realized that perhaps she ought to have offered comfort of some kind to her brother, but hopefully he wouldn’t fault her terribly for it. She brightened herself when he deemed her idea worthy. “Excellent, then a picnic we shall have,” she decided with a nod, as though it would be so simple. Perhaps with Valentin and Benny, it would be. She could only hope as much. the topic of their father, mingled with Valentin’s love, had her thinking on her own marital prospects.

Something that had rattled in her mind jangled to the forefront of her thoughts as she tilted her head, really studying her brother. “Love and father..,” Florence murmured, half to herself. “That reminds me.. I had a most peculiar conversation about husbands,” Florence started conversationally. “And wives,” she added. “On the day of my debut. I’ve been told that gentlemen are made aware of these things when they are sixteen, but Valentin, had you any idea that apparently, one’s significant other would expect to see one in a state of undress. I thought it perfectly shocking, though apparently it is a rather commonplace occurrence. Had you any idea?” Florence turned to her brother, her own blue eyes wide at the scandalous nature of her question.

The salad was put into a bowl and Valentin had just turned, putting it all on the table, when Florence said something, very quietly. “What was that?” he asked, still feeling so very light and easy now, and every bit of it was reflected in his voice. Thus, at first, when she went on, Valentin felt flattered that she was still thinking of husbands. He had never dared to think that far, but the idea of Benny one day being like a husband to him made him almost giddy.

“Did you now?” he asked. Only then did a quiet frown appear on his face again, as he turned back to the get the cutlery and saw Florence’s expression. She went on some more, he caught on about what she was speaking off, and a moment later he was almost embarrassed to be looking at her. Hastily, he busied himself with the cutlery. Unfortunately there was only the two of them, so the two forks and two knives were plucked out from the drawer rather quickly and so Valentin just stood there, awkwardly, with nothing left to do. “Well...”

He pretended to polish one of the forks a bit. “Yes. I mean-...” What a shame that Mrs Lancashure kept her cutlery so clean. “I suppose-... Well, I suppose that it might actually be ... considered ... the reason why some people get married in the first place.” Something in the back of his mind wanted him to ask: How did you think babies are made? But the mere idea of getting into even more detail with his sister about this... “Why-... Well, why did you find it so shocking?” A thoroughly stupid question! But too late. It was out.

#florence #august 7 #fbfblfbflbfl

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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Florence tilted her golden head at learning she knew him. She knew the person Valentin loved, and never once suspected a thing. Goodness, she must be blind. “Benny?” Florence repeated, no small amount of relief washing over her. It was someone she knew already, not some stranger like she could have brought home after the season’s end. Not only that, Benny was extremely kind. The anxiety melted from her eyes, and her smile softened. “I quite like Benny Forester,” she informed Valentin, even though he could guess at that much. “He spoke to me, in the market, when I first returned from France,” Florence continued. “He even invited me to take tea with his sisters, as though it wasn’t a risk to his family’s reputation. “I do not think he would ever turn into something akin to our father,” she added. It was the youngest Talbot’s chief concern. “Yes, we must take tea together sometime, though perhaps I won’t insist on making the biscuits myself now that I think about it..I could hardly risk burning them, if we were to do it at Tynthesfield. Or perhaps a picnic would be more preferable?”

This time, Valentin did let out a breath of relief. It was quiet, as was the smile that grew on his lips -- despite himself. “Yeah, I-... I do too.” 

He had not considered, not ever, that Benny could turn into someone like their father, and it raised his gaze to Florence with a soft frown between his brows. No. No, yes. He knew what she meant. And perhaps, deep down, he had feared it once too. No. No, yes, this wasn’t at all what he was surprised to find in her words. What really, actually, surprised him, was that Florence simply matched Valentin’s love to a married love. It had his frown disappear, his smile broaden and broaden until a laugh escaped him. He nodded. “He’d like a picnic.”

And when he continued to prepare their lunch now, he felt light and easy. Maybe this wasn’t so difficult after all! Maybe he’d make it just fine. 

#florence #august 7 #you can either bring out The Question now or end the thread there! :3

[valentin-talbot]

soleil-timide​:

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Valentin was in love.

Her wonderful, kind,  sweet brother, was in love with someone. And they were in love with him..or at least that is what Florence assumed. The knowledge came with a barrage of emotions. Fear, concern..those were natural reactions. But perhaps a touch of hope settled in her chest. That must be the little thing rustling its feathers behind the cage of her ribs whenever she asked, and he answered. Yes, still yes. It did not seem that this was the sort of love once recovered from easily. And love was a thing to recover from.

Hope was the thing with feathers, sweet on a perch. Love was a jagged thing, tying one soul to another no matter what the  body is capable of. And now there was so much love around Tynthesfield. First, Alastair and Augustine. Now Valentin. Florence wanted to ask, to pry, to know who it was her brother had fallen in love with. And then, in a very un-Florence-like fashion, she wanted to march right up to them and inform them that should harm befall her brother while he loved them, they would rue the day. Still, she wished to say something similar to Augustine on Alastair’s behalf.

Naturally she couldn’t, because there was precious little she could do to anyone and Alastair would likely be quite cross with her, but still. Their parents had loved each other once, she was quite sure, and look how that turned out. Valentin continued to be in love, and continued to seem happy. Alastair and Augustine continued to seem happy. And Florence could only worry.

Their lunch was lovely. It was simple, but it was theirs. She and her brother made it, together, and that alone made it better than any feast the king could throw. And then came Valentin’s answer, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Valentin loved a man. Her worry increased tenfold with that fact alone. Was he hiding a cruelty akin to their fathers? Had he some clandestine vice that would ruin them all? Would he turn violent or yell at the drop of a hat? She could not ask any of these things, Florence knew. So instead she reached for Valentin’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Surely he shall return next week,” the youngest Talbot hoped aloud. “You must point him out to me when he comes, Valentin. If you love him, then so do I. Perhaps we could have tea together sometime, wouldn’t that be lovely? Perhaps I can convince our housekeeper to teach me how to make biscuits for the occasion.” Another squeeze, and a genuine smile. Even with all her worries and fears, logically, Florence knew that he could only love someone as kindhearted as himself. Right?

Valentin didn’t know what had come over him, when he had said that, and his heart was drumming aches through his chest as he waited with baited breath for her reaction. Or perhaps he knew what had come over him. Knew exactly what it was, all those factors, and it made the heart beats all the more aching. Because at least if it had escaped him despite himself, he might’ve feigned surprise. Might’ve feigned a joke. As it were, he sat there, quiet, unmoving, serious. 

And finally, Florence answered. Answered to the content of his words, and less their semantic surprises. He almost let out a breath of relief. But it was not yet quite over, was it?

“Oh, but you know him,” he said, trying to sound as casual as he could. As casual as one would be when talking about someone you loved, regardless of who it was. And with that same tone, a rock tied to his tongue, a galloping horse to his heart, and strong seagulls to his eyes flying up and forcing his gaze up to Florence, he said: “Benny?” As though she didn’t know who it was. As though they hadn’t been best friends since they were capable of memories. “Benny Forester.” 

#florence #august 7

[valentin-talbot]

Answers

Time: August 7th Place: The Parish  Status: Closed, for @soleil-timide

There was no doubt that Valentin was happy. Even with fear following his every step as it always did, making him cautious and quiet, there was no space for doubt to settle on his his family’s mind, that ever since they had returned from London, he was happy.

His steps were light, his lips curved into a smile, he countered the stressful wedding organisation with good humour and responded to bites and sharp orders with jokes. Barely anyone noticed. Or rather, they all noticed, but barely anyone had the time to pause and ask him about it. Everyone was busy with their own life and sorrows, their own thoughts and happiness. 

Only to Florence he had confessed, on her night of her arrival a month ago, when they had sunk into Florence’s bed together just like when they were little so that they could talk and talk long into the night. When she had asked what made him so happy, he had whispered, very quietly: ‘I’m in love.’ 

Florence being Florence, she had not pressed further. Perhaps she thought it was a hopeless love that could not be spoken of. Perhaps she thought Valentin didn’t want to steal Alastair’s thunder by telling everyone about his own engagement just now. Perhaps she just knew that once Valentin felt ready, he would come talk to her. Either way, the month passed, and Valentin did not tell her. Only on a day when he was particularly happy, and their eyes crossed, and hers seemed to say: ‘Still in love’?’, he’d respond with: ‘Still in love.’ 

And then came the bet. 

What had previously been a private little emotion beating in the safety of his heart and shared with the world through light steps and smiling lips, suddenly felt like an awful lie. Had he been lying? Not telling anyone about this? Would he have told Florence of his lover’s name had they been a respectable young woman he promised to marry? Suddenly he felt like he’d been lying. Suddenly his love felt dirty. 

On Sunday after Church, he invited Florence to lunch with him. Mrs Lancashure was in Norrington, as were Alastair, Bernadette and Augustine (for separate reasons though, he highly suspected), and Valentin didn’t like the idea of Florence all alone in that house. So they prepared a small lunch together -- oh, how skilled they’d become in the last few months! -- chit-chatting gently against the Summer heat. 

Perhaps it showed, this bet, lying heavily on him. Perhaps he was ever so slightly less good humoured, made ever so fewer jokes. Because not long after they sat down to eat their salads, he caught Florence’s gazes. The ones that asked: ‘Still in love?’, and this time there seemed to be doubt. Or perhaps he just read it into it. Either way, the idea of doubt existing sent a cold shiver down his spine, so he answered: “Still in love. I suppose I am just a little sad that he was not here for the sermon today.” 

And then it hung there. The truth. In the air. 

#florence #august 7

[valentin-talbot]

zachariahforester​:

So Valentin had been in love before and from what he was hearing, it hadn’t ended well. It did make him scared, as if Valentin was some ill omen, dragging this misery from man to man. But that was silly. From what he’d learnt there was a certain amount of risk for any man like Valentin or Benny, especially ones who were more open to the world about it. Every person who knew was another possibility of violence. It wasn’t specific to Valentin. Benny was as safe, if not safer, with him as he was with any other man. “I don’t believe you would willingly or knowingly lead him to harm, but-” What was it he’d said to Benny only moments ago? “Valentin, I don’t believe you can love someone the way they deserve, or even the way you deserve, if you do it from a place of fear. If your love is constantly accompanied by the fear of losing him.” In a way, it was what made God’s love so pure. There was nothing you could do that could turn him away for good, and if you turned away, he’d be there waiting for your return. Not even death could part it. But humans were mortal and fallible, and imperfect. The fear made sense, he knew it very well, but he could see there were people who loved without the constant fear, and he could see it was better.

“Valentin wait,” it was said more out of instinct, not expecting the sudden departure. What had he said that had triggered this? He listened carefully, because the parting words had weight, like they might contain some clue or key. The way he spoke made it sound like he was certain Maurice had been killed, and that an accident was more hypothetical than a murder was. What did he know? “Valentin, if you know something…” Secrets, so many secrets. Secrets he’s just commended Valentin on being so good at keeping. He couldn’t force him to speak now, not with any good conscience, or without making himself a hypocrite. “I hope you know what you’re doing with it. I hope it does less harm locked away with you than it would released, and that whatever it is you’re protecting is worth it.” If Valentin knew what Zachariah feared he knew, perhaps Zachariah didn’t really want to hear it anyway. “I have never once thought Maurice deserved the end he got. I doubt there’s much I could learn that would change my mind on that.” Even if it was his mother, even if she had her twisted reasons, she had put more pain into the world than Maurice ever could have. Zachariah couldn’t condone that, as a man, as a son, and certainly not as a doctor.

I don’t believe you can love someone the way they deserve, or even the way you deserve, if you do it from a place of fear. Valentin wanted to dismiss those words. After all, he’d been told them to so many times, and he was sure he’d told them to himself just as many times as well. But something -- he didn’t know what -- had him pause. Perhaps the fact that this was not said by anyone, but the brother of the one he loved? Perhaps the fact that he wanted to love Benny the way he deserved it, had a real reason for once to take those words and listen? He didn’t know. But today, he took the words in. “Some children are born out of love. Some children are born out of obligation.” He shrugged. “I was born out of fear.” It’s my nature. He let his gaze rest on Zachariah for a while, now taller than him, now looking up to him for guidance. “But I am trying. I won’t be the one implanting fear into him.” Because that he had promised to himself as well. Benny had considered the dangers and had then agreed to loving him anyway. And so Valentin would do the same. He would not constantly remind him of the dangers. He would not let him doubt. He would only let Benny feel the love, be in love, and nothing else. 

He waited. Turned. Hands hanging loosely and yet so very stiffly by his side. Eyes almost glazed as they rested on Zachariah. That whatever it is you’re protecting is worth it. Were his eyes not on Zachariah right now? Had he not just been offered shelter at Fairford where lived so many good people? Had he not just confessed to being in love with one of them? That whatever it is you’re protecting is worth it. How could anything be worth more than them?  He blinked, batting away the glaze on his eyed. Almost tried a smile. Tried. Almost. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, oh so soft, oh so mild. “And of course he didn’t deserve the end he got. We all loved Maurice.”

He motioned towards the path. “I will find some work to do for a while. Will you tell-...” It still felt so very odd how open of a secret it was now. He cleared his throat. “Will you tell Benny I’m at The Parish? I’ll be back by-... I’ll be back later.” 

#zachariah #june 13

[valentin-talbot]

zachariahforester​:

Zachariah smiled a little, not so much at Valentin’s words, but the idea of Benny, choosing to love despite it all, because that was what he did and who he was. A choice, but one with only one plausible outcome for someone like Benny. “He’s can be a fool, but he’s not an idiot.” He spoke with fondness. “I’m sure he didn’t make that choice lightly, he understands the dangers-” Zachariah swallowed then, remembering that he had been one of those dangers until very recently, “And he can do some of the work to guard himself against them. The only way I can forsee him getting into trouble is by being too trusting, or carefree.” He thought about the letter he’d found by chance because Benny hadn’t thought to hide it, or the way the American businessman had swindled Benny out of coin and a signature because Benny had believed the best in him. The ill will of others attracted to the beacon of Benny’s inherent goodness. “I’m not quite sure how we protect against that without squashing out the very things I… we love about him. But I can tell you that you’re not alone in your fear, and you won’t be alone in making sure he never comes to harm.” It was quite something, he realised, to be more scared of a man leaving and thereby breaking his brother’s heart, than by him staying and placing his brother in a relationship that could ruin or end his life if the wrong person ever found out about it. “You are far from being the only person who loves Ebenezer Forester.” He meant it. Benny may have had the bad luck of letting a few bad apples in, but by the exact same methods, he had secured the affections of far more. Thus his greatest vulnerabilities also became his shield.

He cleared his throat a little. “But I meant it. As long as I have some power in this house, he’ll be safe here. You too.” The idea that he could have made this home so inhospitable for Benny that he’d go elsewhere to seek safety, and thereby possibly fall into an even more dangerous setting, still sat heavy in him. Perhaps even heavier though, was the idea that he might have found it, a happier safer place, and thought back to Fairford and Zachariah with only pain and disappointment. The Talbot household had never seemed particularly hospitable.

What had she said? Zachariah waved his hand like he was swatting away a fly. “Just something about heartbreak. Made me think of Sissy and Maurice.” He wasn’t sure how much to say, his suspicions seemed ludicrous even to him. Valentin’s reaction had been odd, and yet it was hard to disregard years of feeling you could trust someone. “It just made me think that perhaps she might have been a bit more relieved than she’d let on. Not about his death of course.” Of course. “Just that their relationship was ended as a result of it.” Now he did turn to look at Valentin, observing him closely, watching for… well he wasn’t sure, but something.

Yes, everything had been very hectic around that time, perhaps that’s why Valentin seemed so flustered. Recalling the winter could not have been very easy, what with Maurice’s death and everything involving the Talbot’s scandal. He was sure whatever presence his mother had had in Valentin’s life at the time, it had not been a calming one. She could be a very stress-inducing woman. With the last line he ducked his head, shame washing over him for even thinking these thoughts about her when he knew what Valentin expressed was true. “Yes, yes that sounds about right.”

Valentin nodded. No, he had never deemed Benny an idiot, not even a fool. Otherwise he would’ve made that decision without him. But what neither of them seemed to understand -- neither Zachariah nor Benny -- was that sometimes love could fully rob you of your wits. Was Valentin himself not the best example of that? "I had promised myself to never fall in love again. I had made myself forget, memory after memory, of how blissful life could be with love in it. I was very happy in my ignorance. There was no mirth but also no pain. I was going to live a mild life. A good life.” He shook his head. “Now I’m happy, and I’m scared of this emotion every second that I’m breathing consciously.” In his dreams, he was at peace. “Don’t tell him that, though. I’ve told him already, and he made his choice. Like you say. I must not make him regret it. I won’t.” So why did he tell Zachariah all of it? He looked at him, briefly, then back to the trees. “I just thought you should know. That I’m not taking it lightly. That I’m not an idiot either. I’ve been hurt once and I won’t let it happen again.” A breath. “So. Thank you. For ensuring him-... us safety.” The correction was not one of doubt, but one of gratitude. Valentin understood that his safety relied on Benny’s. But since that was what he wanted, he had no trouble agreeing to the terms.

“I should be going now.” He needed to go. He did not know where but he needed to move warmth back into his limbs. Before he managed to take his first step, however, he turned his head, barely daring to look at Zachariah, even now. “You know. Of all the thoughts, prayers and hopes I keep stored behind locked lips,” he began, after a moment, even his voice still feeling cold from the fear, “the one thing I can tell you with absolute confidence, is that Maurice was innocent. A perfectly innocent person who has never plotted or attempted harm against anyone.” Icicles in his lungs. He straightened his shoulders. Tensed his knees. “If he ... had died for any other reason than an accident,” If someone had murdered him, “he would not be at fault for having brought it onto himself. Not by-... Not by any logical reasoning any of us could ever truly understand.” And yet. Valentin? Valentin understood. 

Was that not why he had sworn to keep it a secret? 

#zachariah #june 13 #hm! hm! #look at that delicious thick soup of plot

[valentin-talbot]

cescapist​:

Not even a week had passed since its beginning, and already Benny was unable to consider a time in which this had not been the norm, nor a time in which it might be withheld from him. Valentin’s fingers were on his scalp, the scratch of his well kept fingernails light enough to send the occasional shiver of pleasure down his spine yet firm enough not to tickle. His breathing was a familiar metronome, a shallow and subtle rise and fall of the chest upon which Benny sprawled, cheek unbothered by the buttons of his shirt. His heartbeat a welcomed thu-bump, thu-bump, thu-bump against his ear, accompanied less and less frequently by the odd noise of digestion and all the queer audible workings of a body which one became acquainted with when so closely pressed to it. He was in heaven, and heaven was within him, and around him, and under him, and with its arms on him, and its legs tangled round him, in his bed, in his home, in his heart.

And then the knock had come.

Selfish, Benny had whined, just loud enough for Valentin to hear him. Had burrowed his face against his chest, kissed it through his shirt, huffed, and puffed, and squeezed his arms against Valentin’s sides. And then, knowing he must, and knowing that he would return to heaven and that heaven would return to him soon enough, he had rolled his weight off. He had shared one last chaste kiss, and then slumped back onto the mattress in the spot Valentin had vacated.

Napping had not happened, even though he had longed for it. In the absence of a body to listen to, to give his attention, his own became far too loud. It begged him to stretch, and to move, and to find new and interesting things to see and touch and smell. He had risen only five minutes after Valentin had left, and had turned his attention to the task he had promised of himself: letter writing.

He worked for fifteen minutes, and then his mind, scattering like seeds in the wind, refused to work any more. Words turned from a flow, to a trickle, to a drip, to a stop. In place of ink, Benny spilled out sighs. He missed heaven. If he strained his ears very, very hard, he could just about imagine that he could hear Valentin’s high, soft voice carrying up the stairs. He could just about imagine the careful metre of his speaking. He could just about imagine the way his voice might change as Benny entered his little lecture, the way his eyes might soften and widen all at once. He could just about…

Benny was down the stairs before rational thought had even entered his mind. In his hands, his half-written letter, his ink and his pen, and the blotting paper – a tool someone as prone to mess as Benny could never be without, if writing was meant to be done. Down there, he no longer had to imagine Valentin’s voice, for he could hear it. High, soft, and in careful metre, though sometimes giving way to a pause for meaningful emphasis, or the searching of words. With his clutter held to his chest, Benny peeked his head through the gap in the door, and pushed it to give better way for the rest of him. It creaked, as old hinges were wont to do, and just like that the considered on and on or words halted, and three faces quickly turned to meet his. Valentin’s eyes softened and widened all at once.

“What?” Benny said, a little dumbfounded; he had been so intent on listening to the melody of Valentin’s voice that he had forgotten, for the most part, to pay attention to what was actually being said. Then, with a casual wave, with a too-bright for casual smile: “Oh, no, no, actually I was wondering if I might join? To just- write. My letters. Over there.” He pointed to the smaller desk past Valentin, pressed tightly against a windowsill and peppered in all sorts of instruments for the examination of bits, which Doctor Forester was sometimes tasked with.

He knew, really, that the house was his (or his family’s), and that he hardly needed to ask permission to enter. And yet it felt quite cheeky to intrude, to bring his selfish longing to be close to Valentin into that little space, where such lofty subjects as moral dilemmata were being discussed. Benny’s questioning, permit-seeking gaze dropped from Valentin’s to the children before him, whose names he was sure he knew, if he would only be given a hint. Tabitha, maybe, and Thomas. “May I?” he asked them, remembering very much how, as a child, he had revelled in being asked permission from real, true adults, if only as it made them seem so much more human, and far more game for a bit of cheek.

The answer was a yes and no at the same time, and the two Meir children and the one Talbot boy allowed Benny to take a seat at the smaller desk by the windowsill of a house that was his own, and watched him curiously for a while. 

Valentin took in the sight of his hands spreading out the letters, his hair, stubborn and soft, falling and falling into his face, the collar and shirt, no doubt crinkled and overfolded because of their nap earlier. All the while he wondered how the Meir children would possible be able to work while someone else was in the room, how they could possibly focus without being distracted by the sound of Benny’s breath, how he might get them to concentrate on Aristotle anew. How! How, if someone so much more interesting had come and stole the lesson?

It was then that little Tim cleared his throat and Valentin blinked. Turned his head. Found both Meir children look at him -- waiting. Waiting for him.

Valentin huffed out abashed chuckle, “Right, right,” and went back to work. The Meir children were now capable of constructing, unknotting, and arguing for a plethora of  moral dilemmas, and the writing paper before them was coloured with ink, while Valentin had lost every such skill. Rationally, there was no doubt, no school, no master of philosophy, who wouldn’t argue that teaching children was the path one always had to choose if the chance arose. Emotionally, however, all Valentin wanted, was to go back to bed and nap some more. 

#benny #june 16

[valentin-talbot]

scandalous-heart​:

~

After soaking up the St Maur hospitality, his next stop was Fairford. He wanted to let Benny know he was in town as soon as possible so they might plan some escapades. He trusted Benny, who had spoken so fondly of his home town, could show him the merits of the countryside like no other. If he was going to spend some time admiring trees and hills, he at least wanted to do it through Benny’s eyes.

His approach to Fairford was less obnoxious, no honking horn or exclamations, though the car still made a rumble. He hopped out and approached the entrance. He could already see the charm in this smaller house. He was hoping his admission would be far more relaxed than the welcome he’d received at the castle. Though someone to take his coat and hat would still be nice.

He rang the bell and awaited its answer.

When it rang on the door of Fairford House, Valentin was the first to reach it. 

He’d been sitting anxiously amongst the four Foresters presently not in Norrington -- Doctor Forester, Zachariah, Samuel and Benny, all discussing the way their lives would continue here on in now that the Factory was in their name -- lost in thought. In truth, he should have probably not even been here, but there was hardly any family in England more willing to let him stay in another room with a book as they concerned themselves with ascribing tutors and matriculating their youngest son than the Foresters. And while he was grateful for it because, in return, there was no family in England he felt safer with. Or rather more at ease, while his heart drummed with confusion over what he were to say when this man would show up again, this face he had known he’d seen again but somehow hoped he wouldn’t. Nevertheless, he knew it was odd that he was here. That he hadn’t excused himself the moment he’d heard they were discussing important matters. That he was at the door before even the housekeeper.

And there he stood, once more. Abbernath Weston. Abby. And while Valentin’s mouth gaped with words he lacked, he could not decide if the sunlight added to his handsomeness or took from it. Neither answer helped, and so, at once, he smacked the door back close into his face.

‘Father Val-...’ the housekeeper began surprised, and a moment later, Benny’s voice: ‘Valentin? Who is it?’

Valentin stepped aside, almost as though to press himself into the shadows of the wall and tried a breathy: “The door slipped from my hands. I couldn’t see.” 

#july 30 #abby #m: zachariah #m: samuel #m: benny #one reply from you babou and then we get snail on?

[valentin-talbot]

zachariahforester​:

Zachariah didn’t understand. He didn’t know how Valentin’s sentence might have ended, or where the anger originated. Even if he had known, it might have raised more questions than it answered. Still his inability to understand made him wary. He hadn’t thought Valentin capable of hurting a fly, but it was Benny’s heart on the line, not the lives of flies.

His wariness subsided as Valentin’s outrage did. It seemed the man was just as confused as he was. He couldn’t detect any ill intentions, and he thought he was a much better judge than Benny, who would believe the best in people until evidence to the contrary slapped him in the face. No, he believed Valentin when he said he was in love again, and he could understand why that love might not just bring joy and happiness, but also difficulty and doubt.

After regarding his friend for a moment, he took a seat beside him on the stairs. “That sounds reasonable. That sounds like a goal I could work towards.” To love and love, until all the hatred was forgotten. It sounded more daunting than reasonable. In fact, it sounded impossible. But Valentin was right, what else could they do? “I sometimes think it’s much harder to love, than to hate. I think it makes you much more vulnerable.” Which was perhaps why he feared so much for Benny. He still felt incredibly awkward talking about all this so openly, his eyes were anywhere but on Valentin, his hands clenched to stop them fidgeting. “Don’t run away from him. Please. Don’t make it harder for him to love. He has a great gift for it. He gets it from our father I think. You can hide from me if you like, even yourself if you have to. But if you hide from him, if you hurt him, I think… I think you’d be ruining the very thing you’re trying to promote.”

He might not have noticed the tension if he hadn’t been sitting so close. They were not touching, Zachariah had been very careful to leave a good space between them, but even so, he felt the air around Valentin change as all his muscles locked. Zachariah’s brow furrowed. The story sounded completely reasonable, and not out of the ordinary for his mother. So why did Valentin seem so nervous? He had just, quite boldly and directly, confronted Zachariah about his bigotry. So why did recounting his mother’s schedule seem such a hardship by comparison? He gave more detail than he was expecting. He was expecting a yes or no, perhaps confusion over why Zachariah had asked in the first place.

“Oh, just… something she said, when we talked. It made me think of that day. Probably nothing.” He’d been a lot more sure it was nothing before he’d asked Valentin about it. “Did she ever talk to you afterwards? About how she felt about it all?” She had not been silent on the matter of course, but perhaps she had guarded her true thoughts around Sissy, to protect her somewhat. A protection that would not have extended to Valentin and the safety of St Mary’s.

Valentin wished he had not phrased in a reasonable manner. That instead it had made him sound mad, or perhaps too naive. For it was mad, or at least too naive, wasn’t it? To hope for change by simply pouring good into the world? Love, as important and as divine as it was, it often went unheard, at least in the grand scheme of things where war screamed and oppression cracked its whips all too loudly. Yes, he wished Zachariah would not have agreed so readily, and instead let Valentin seek guidance and comfort in him. With every moment passing since he had allowed Benny to give this love between them a name -- or rob it of a name accepted by society, really -- he had felt the need for someone to tell him that he’d not done the wrong thing. To take his hand and guide him, pat it, soothe his anxiety. Instead, Zachariah looked up to him, metaphorically, and Valentin felt like a lighthouse once more, warning of danger rather than guiding safely into a haven. 

He sighed. “I told him everything. Every worry and sorrow I have concerning this, and then I let him choose. I’m not going to take that choice away from him, because that’s not my place,” choices, that is, the act of choosing, was, after all and above all, holy, “but it won’t take away from how scared I am.” A pause. A breath. Another sigh. “For him.” 

He nodded, stiffly. What was it that Mrs Forester and Zachariah had talked about? What could it be that would lead to the death of Maurice? To that unholy, terrible day when Mrs Forester had come to Saint Mary’s, all too early? “What did she say?” he asked, and tried to make his actual curiosity sound natural. 

Had she? Talked to him afterwards? If so, they had not been of importance. Valentin only remembered how frozen he’d been with fear, and how the silence between them, the looks exchanged across the church, had felt far more dangerous than any over-playing words could have.  “She was in Church often, praying. But she rarely stopped to chit chat. You remember how it was, how we all felt. It was terrible and none of us could really speak about it without making it sound like yet another gossip.” Even Fitz Cavanaugh had been strangely demure and pious. “And, you know, how everything happened not long after my family lost everything and I was helping Florence and Bernie move and-...” He tried to remember, to remember, to remember. “When she did speak to me, it was just to tell me how she would not survive it, if one of her children were to die. That she loved you all so much. That she would give her own life for yours.” 

#zachariah #june 13

[valentin-talbot]

zachariahforester​:

It was a surprising relief to hear that Benny’s immortal soul was safe, and from a voice of Godly authority too. God had made them with the same divine intentions and it was not some test to overcome, but purposeful design. Now he just had to keep Benny safe in this life.

Yet something in Valentin’s phrasing tugged at his existing confusion. “Them? Valentin, have I made a mistake? From what Benny told me, I was under the impression that you were a.. homosexual too.” He felt the heat of embarrassment rise up just at the thought that he might have made the wrong conclusion, but then a small spark of anger ignited. “If you are leading him on, or- or duping him in some way, I warn you, your welcome here will be revoked.” Benny’s feelings were strong and true, and the idea that they were being toyed with in some way enraged him.

Yet as Valentin went on, his rage faded into shame, and when Valentin looked up at him defiantly Zachariah had to look away. He had been there. He had parroted his righteous opinions like all the rest. He had cheered and jeered and celebrated. Perhaps he had not led the charge, but he had certainly joined it. He had not felt ashamed about that until just now, with Valentin’s gaze piercing him. He nodded, the only admission of guilt he could make at that moment. For a moment he imagined Benny in Wilde’s place. Valentin was right, none of that could have been fuelled by God’s will. “How do we fix that?” He asked, once again asking for guidance from Valentin, not just as a spiritual leader, but as a friend. How did they repair the division between God’s intent and that of a society led by men?

More shame. “Valentin I’m sorry- I never questioned your moral judgement.” Had he? Not even for a second? Not even a little bit? In truth, he was still coming to terms with the fact that Valentin might be gay, and uncoupling that idea in his mind with moral wrongness. But the truth was, he had always known, despite his doubts, that Benny had a good soul, and Valentin too. It was an intuitive truth. And whatever his own opinions on the matter, it was beginning to feel unjust that these good souls would be damned for a blemish, a blemish they had not even created themselves. But no, there was no blemish. They were not damned. Valentin had said so, and he trusted Valentin.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you. In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think you’ve ever let something slip that you shouldn’t have. And you must hold so many. Secrets that is. I imagine people must come to confess to you all the time, even if we don’t have boxes for it.” So many secrets. He cleared his throat. “Say, Valentin, my mother was at church with you, the day Maurice died, wasn’t she?” As a family, they had gone over the events of that day a million times. In the weeks after his death, it was all they could talk about. Until now, until the small suspicion uncovered with Benny a moment ago, he had never thought to question his mother when she said she’d been at St Mary’s.

The shiver than ran down his spine at that word was inevitable, going all the way down to his hands, where they balled into fists. He could not bring himself to reply. Only a: “How dare-...” passed his lips, almost silent, because his lungs too were tight. Was the failed ‘how dare you’ meant for that word? Or the accusation that Valentin did not love Benny? That he was playing with him? In the moments in which Zachariah gathered himself, Valentin replayed it both in his head, and found, despite himself, the latter felt more like a dagger pinned nearly into his chest. Did Zachariah not realise that he said all this out of love?

Perhaps he did. With a sigh, Valentin sank to the ground, finding a humble seat on the stoops again, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he answered, honestly, “I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is that I’ve run away from love for years and years because I don’t know how to fix it. And that despite myself, despite knowing better, despite not knowing how to fix it, I am in love again.” It was true what he had told Benny, two days ago, that all the reasons he had named him about why they should not love each other were not reasons for himself to love Benny less, but reasons for Benny to love Valentin less. As much as Valentin feared -- feared persecution, punishment and death -- it was no feeling worth even mentioning compared to how scared he was for Benny. “Maybe we just have to keep loving until the whole world has forgotten hate. Years and decades, maybe centuries, until eventually, even in the country out here, they’ll have grown used to it.” 

Valentin didn’t need Zachariah to apologise. On the contrary, for the pang of a moment he felt ashamed that it had seemed like he had accused him of an accusation. His gaze was averted, fixed firmly on the ground, and when Zachariah went on, he was glad it was. Yes, he held many secrets within his chest. Too many, at times, and were it not for his past, when he had always let the servants take the beatings for him, and his determination to make up for all the wrongs he had caused with it, he would have crumbled from their weight. As it were, he forced himself to keep them, keep them safe, for the greater good. If that made him a martyr, so be it, as long no one else had to become one on his behalf anymore. 

And then came that question and Valentin’s whole body tensed, his gaze went up, to the nothing before him. “Yes,” he breathed, his fingers cramping into each other. “Yes, she-... Your mother, she was at Church with me.” In her elegant black dress with the chaste hat, praying silently at the front. He had watched her and watched her and watched her, much like he watched this memory, clinging to it to remind himself that at least this part was the truth of it all. “She-, she came early that morning, and left late in the evening. I brought her water, twice. We barely talked.” What else? What else was there to paint the truth? He took another shaky breath, and tried, with greatest concentration, to sound casual: “Why do you ask?” His gaze was still frozen on the trees before him, his pupils narrow with fear.

#zachariah #june 13

[valentin-talbot]

scandalous-heart​:

Summer Holiday

Date: 30th of July, 1904 Place: St Maur Status: Open

Abbernath Weston had never enjoyed the country, yet he could admit there was a freedom to be found in zooming along the winding countryroads behind the wheel of his car. He’d admit it after he’d complained about all the bruising he’d have from being jostled to his core by the uneven surfaces, and after his heart had retreated from his mouth after meeting another vehicle coming in the opposite direction and nowhere to veer but a hedge or a ditch.

Still, freedom, perhaps that what he was seeking. Or just good company. The summer season had dried up in London, and all his new friends had disappeared back to whence they’d come. He had found himself suddenly and unexpectedly quite alone and missing them. All of them.

What good fortune then, that so many of them hailed from the same little town of St Maur.

He had not informed anyone of his visit. He’d simply packed his bag and hopped in the car as soon as the boredom and lonliness had become to much to bear. Now he was pulling up a driveway, a house looming before him.

He honked the horn as he pulled up, loud and obnoxious and far too many times to be considered polite. “Hello! I’m here! I’ve come to rescue you from the tedium of country living!” He called, and he lept from the driver’s seat.

Valentin was in the St Maur Castle gardens with Dinah when he saw a car drive up and honk with summerly enthusiasm. Curiously, they perked up and left their picnic blanket behind as they approached to see who it could possibly be. Blame it on Valentin’s dwindling eye-sight or the fact that he had met the visitor only once in a dim club, but Dinah recognised him before he could: “But-! That’s Lord Abbernath Weston, isn’t it?” While Valentin only brought out a breathy: “Abby,” a moment later. 

Stumbling back into the picnic blanket, he declined the offer to go greet him, babbling something about packing up and bringing the leftovers to Town, and a moment later he was indeed scrambling away with basket, blanket and two cups of dripping tea cups dangling from his arms. Were he someone who cursed, he would’ve cursed quite a lot then. 

“Charity,” he told the housekeeper of Fairford House as he pushed the basket into her arms and stumbled inside. Why exactly he had come here he didn’t quite know. Maybe to ... warn? Benny? Either way, the moment he caught sight of him, the news sat too heavy in his mouth anyway and he could not quite bring them out. Maybe because he thought he might be mistaken? Maybe because he hoped he was mistaken? Maybe because Benny had no idea that he knew Abby -- Lord Abbernath Weston, gosh! -- and why did it matter anyway, were it not for the fact that Abby and he-... 

So he was simply asked to join the tea room and let the conversation slip away from him to the plethora of updates the Foresters were now daily bringing forth. It distracted him well, but not well enough to completely eradicate the thought that, oh gosh, Abby was in St Maur. 

#abby #july 30