Arthur awoke the following morning to the sound of rain. It was light, gentle rain, the kind of rain that soothed like a burning fireplace or a lullaby in childhood. The kind of rain the rain in Spring always should be, he felt. It was early morning, judging from the soft light that flitted in between the curtains, and bathed everything it touched in a deep, rich grey. It was a very tranquil, calming color to his senses at present.
He lay in his bed for a long time, not moving, only listening to the soft pitters and patters the raindrops made as they landed against the glass panes of the windows outside.
It made him think of that one prelude by Chopin. Good old Frederick, he thought to himself, as one of his hands gave a twitch. He began humming the song quietly, moving his fingers about an inch above the sheets as he basked on his back in the peace of the morning, using the rain itself as a metronome.
When he later got up from under the covers and took out his watch from his coat pocket, he estimated he had laid in bed for about an hour and a half, after waking up, which was a feat he rarely accomplished.
° Ŏ °
It was ten o' clock in the morning when James came knocking at his door again. Arthur admitted him in, and gestured to one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace. James took the seat, and Arthur stirred the coals. He had started the fire fifteen minutes earlier, and they were burning nicely.
"You're half-dressed," James remarked.
Arthur was aware, as he used the poker, of James' eyes boring into him, but he pretended they weren't. He was wearing a shirt and pants and the appropriate undergarments, but had no vest, or even suspenders. He replied only with "I know." He hadn't felt like finishing dressing that morning.
James himself was fully dressed in a grey day suit, his rustish hair slicked back. He had no cufflinks though, Arthur noted with a quick glance.
The echoes of the soft rain outside were the only sounds inside the room.
"Father is leaving tomorrow for London," James said finally, after several minutes of silence. "Mother wanted me to tell you that."
"Good," Arthur said, "he shouldn't have left London in the first place."
James gave a quick clearing of his throat. "While I am sure that the old Lords could live without one member for few weeks," he said, in a rather officious tone, "It's of course for the best that he's going back."
Arthur put the poker back in the rack, and settled into the chair opposite his brother, their feet four feet apart.
No longer being preoccupied, James became aware of how dim the room was. "Why don't you have the lights on?" he asked. He got up from his chair, but a noise of protest from Arthur brought him down again.
"Don't," Arthur told him. A glance cast sideways at him coaxed him to add "I like the dimness."
"Whatever for?" James asked of him.
"It's peaceful," Arthur said simply.
Arthur certainly did seem at peace at the moment, James thought to himself, as he studied his brother. His breathing was so quiet that he couldn't hear it, and he was sitting still again, as still as a statue. His eyes were half-focused, and James was aware that he was deep in thought. He watched his brother for maybe ten minutes, as he looked past the pretty patterns of the wallpaper behind his own head, staring ahead. Though ahead into what, James hadn't a clue.
The clapping shut of his watch cover, though, brought Arthur back to the present with a start.
"We're going out to lunch today," James said, smirking, as he stowed his watch back into his pant pocket.
"Where to?" Arthur asked, with little emotion.
The Café de la Paix," James replied.
"Is it good?" Arthur asked.
"It's on the Boulevard des Capucines, it should be good," James declared, scoffing. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar and a lighter.
"Don't," Arthur told him.
"Come now," James said, smiling, "I need to smoke."
"I don't like the smell," Arthur frowned. "Smoke somewhere else if you need to."
"Alright, alright," James said, relenting, and put the cigar and lighter back into his jacket with a grin. He put his hands in the air in mock surrender, on parallel level with his face.
The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched, the closest he came to cracking a smile. "What time are we going to lunch?" he asked.
"The reservations are for one o' clock," James replied, so we of course should be dressed and ready to leave at half-past twelve."
Arthur nodded. He then got up from his seat, pressing his palms onto the armrests to push himself out, and walked behind James to his steamer trunk in the corner of the room. When he returned to his chair again, he had a book in hand, and he settled in comfortably against the cushioned seatback.
"Should I leave?" James asked, with some reluctance, and eyeing the book with irritation.
"Stay if you want, I don't mind it," Arthur replied placidly.
James' fingers drum rolled on his thigh for a split second. "Alright, I'll stay here then," he said, smiling. He shifted himself in his chair a bit.
Arthur nodded to him, gave a small smile in return to please him. He opened the volume to the ribbon-marked page where he had earlier left off, and continued reading.
Author's Note: I'm sorry I'm a day (and a half) late with this chapter. The original chapter I wrote had some fundamental problems with it, and I realized only after writing a chunk of it that it would not do. So, I had to start from scratch and make a new chapter. I just finished writing it a few minutes ago, after starting it yesterday or Saturday (I forget which). I will endeavor though to be on time with my self-imposed deadlines of a chapter every Sunday in the future.
Also, I greatly appreciate the irony of the fact that the Café de la Paix is not on the Rue de la Paix (which translates roughly to "street of-the-Peace", or "Peace St."), but instead on the Boulevard des Capucines ("Capucines Boulevard"). It's near the Rue de la Paix though, so at least there's that.