The snowfall in London city had finally come to rest, laid thick across the roads and streets. The navy sky was no longer dotted with drifting white flakes, nor was it sprinkled with silver stars. Instead, the streetlamps lit the paths and beamed against the crisp snow like a perfect, artificial moon. The warm homes along the street were patterned with yellow lights illuminating their doors and clothing their naked trees, but among them shone the brightest home in all of London; the Kirkland household. Nothing, the people of London could all agree, was more beautiful than the Kirkland's house on Christmas Eve.
Inside, where it was warmer and brighter than it was out under the sky, a large gathering was taking place. The hearty laughter of family, family and friend, more musical to the ear than the piano playing in the foyer, which was rich enough to trick even the clumsiest of feet into dancing.
Young Peter Kirkland, sporting his best sailor costume (that his mother insisted he wore, and that he detested due to the cooing it caused from his aunts, great-aunts and female cousins) scrambled through the crowd with his famous boyish excite.
"Mummy!" he called with impatient cheer. He skidded to a halt when he caught sight of the tall woman, draped in a rich crimson dress, and he skipped towards her. "Mummy," he chimed, tugging gently on the soft, luxurious fabric of her dress, "Mummy, when will uncle Henry be here?"
"Peter, dear," Mrs Kirkland calmed him with her pure and soothing voice, "do be patient. Your godfather should be here soon. Now, why don't you go find your brother, like a good boy?"
Peter smiled up at the beautiful woman, who stroked the strands of hair that fell from beneath his cap with love. "Ok mummy!" and with that, he disappeared off into the crowd.
Little Peter's legs carried him as quickly as they could, suddenly possessing the uninformed presumption that the faster he found his brother, the faster he would get his early Christmas gifts from he and his brother's generous godfather, Henry le Blanc. Poking his head behind the backs and arms and legs of each well-dressed guest, most of which whom swirled a glass of blood-wine in their hands like precious gold, Peter quickly found that his brother was nowhere to be seen. So, he charged upstairs.
"Arthur!" he called before his hand even left the top of the banister. He didn't even wait for an answer before he scurried down the hall and barged into his beloved brother's bedroom. "Arthur!"
The slender, blond man spun around in surprise from the mirror on his vanity. It was Arthur Kirkland; eldest son of Janine and Charles Kirkland, older brother of young Peter, and just-turned nineteen. With a gorgeous bashfulness about him, he attempted to hide the pink of his cheeks by furrowing his heavy brow, "P-Peter! How many times have I told you about knocking?"
"Come on, let's get downstairs," Peter hurried, unaffected by his stubborn brother's mood, "Uncle Henry should be here soon!"
Something in Arthur's green eyes glistened, and he turned back to his vanity, picking up a small turtle-shell comb and using it to neaten his thick, messy hair. "Is- um… did mother mention if uncle Henry was bringing a guest along with him?"
Peter tilted his head to the side and scrunched his nose, "No. I don't think so. Why?"
"Oh," Arthur sighed, "well, no reason…" Peter watched his Arthur set his comb back down onto the vanity and surveyed his reddening cheeks in the mirror. Peter grinned.
"Ooooh, I get it." Arthur began to straighten his bowtie, trying to ignore the cocky young lad. "You just want to see uncle Henry's nephew-"
"I do not!" Arthur squeaked.
"'Cause you looooove him."
"Oh, do be quiet," Arthur snapped in defeat. He stood from his vanity and turned to face the small boy, "Or I won't convince mother to stop forcing you into those ridiculous costumes."
"Fine," Peter pouted, but the expression quickly washed from his face when he heard the doorbell ringing. The front door clicked open, and Peter could detect the slight mumble of his godfather's voice. He grabbed Arthur's hand and began to tug him out of the room, "Quick, there's uncle Henry! Come on!"
Once in the hall, Arthur peeked over the banister to the floor below to find his father greeting Henry le Blanc, who seemed to have arrived alone. Disheartened, Arthur's heart weighed like iron, so that Peter could no longer drag his weight along. He released his brother and stampeded downstairs.
"Uncle Henry!" he shouted as he attacked the elderly man with a very enthusiastic bear hug. Some nearby relatives laughed and awed over the sweet boy, and Henry patted him on the head with an aged smile. Arthur's frown morphed into a tiny grin at the sight. But he was caught off guard when a tall, beautiful man stepped in from the cold outside and stood next to Henry, shaking Mr Kirkland's hand with grace. The light from the chandelier overhead illuminated his most gorgeous of features, and the wind from outside washed through his long golden locks until someone shut the door behind him.
With slender fingers, the handsome man untied the string of his short navy cape and removed it. Beneath he wore a grand navy coat, with golden lining around the cuffs and collar, and gold buttons down the front. Being led into the living room by Mr Kirkland, the man's blue eyes seemed to be lidded with the same pleasure that anyone would associate with awaking from a pleasant dream. A dreamy, pink smile on his lips, he glided into the living room.
Francis Bonnefoy, Henry le Blanc's nephew, or his mother's brother's daughter's son; however distantly related they were, they were close. Arthur had met the man on many occasions in the past, at all of the other parties and gatherings that the Kirklands had hosted. Arthur shook himself out of his daze and felt the heat irradiating from his cheeks with his hand. Quickly, he ran into the bathroom to cool himself off.
This is a preview. If you enjoyed it and would like to read the rest of the completed 20 page fanfiction, you can find it on my website (see my profile). Sorry for the inconvenience!