Author's Note: This chapter, which borrows heavily from Northanger Abbey (I've even stolen a few lines of dialogue from the novel) with perhaps a bit of Downton Abbey, is one I've had in mind since I first thought of this story. It turned out to take a lot longer to write than I expected, partially due to real life getting in the way and partially because there's a very important conversation here and I wanted to be sure I got it right. Those of you who've been asking for some backstory on Blaine, this is the chapter you've been waiting for. Thanks for sticking with me!
There's also a bit of gossip about the royal family in this chapter, and while I hope it is all clear enough in context I'll give the relevant names and dates here. In 1818 the king was George III and his wife, Charlotte, was queen. Their oldest son George, Prince of Wales (the future King George IV), had been serving as regent since 1811. The Prince of Wales had married Princess Caroline of Brunswick in 1795. It was not a happy match. They began living separately soon after the wedding, but there was plenty of drama and scandal even after that.
Jane Austen, like many others at the time, didn't entirely approve of Caroline but thought even less of George. In a letter to a friend she wrote "Poor woman, I shall support her as long as I can, because she is a woman and because I hate her husband."
By Sunday both the weather and Kurt's mood had improved. Though it was vexing to have clear skies and sunshine on the one day in the week when he knew Mr. Anderson would not call, it did not seem so long until they would see each other at the ball. Kurt enjoyed a pleasant breakfast with his father and stepmother and afterward amused himself by practicing the piano and looking through old issues of Ackermann's Repository.
He was so absorbed in studying the plates of elegant home furnishings that he did not even look up when he heard a knock at the front door. On a Sunday afternoon it could only be Miss Fabray come to call upon Mrs. Hummel and ask if there had been any word from Finley. He was expected in Bath by the end of the week, though as a military man he was not his own master and there was always the possibility of delay.
A few minutes later Kurt heard footsteps on the stairs. He put his magazines aside and rose to greet the ladies as they entered the drawing room. Yet it was not Miss Fabray who followed Mrs. Hummel into the room.
"I hope this is not a terrible imposition," said Mr. Anderson.
"No, not at all," Kurt said. He was painfully aware that his voice sounded small and breathless. "Please, sit down."
"Will you take tea, Mr. Anderson?" Mrs. Hummel asked.
"No, thank you. I do not mean to intrude upon your hospitality. I only came to ask if Mr. Hummel wanted to walk with me today, since it is so fine. We had meant to go up to Beechen Cliff yesterday, had it not rained."
"Yes, I believe he mentioned that once or twice," Mrs. Hummel said with a smile. "Kurt, be sure you are back by five o'clock. You know how your father feels about Sunday dinner."
As soon as Kurt had changed into a pair of more sensible boots, they were on their way. "I am so glad that you called," he said as they headed towards Pulteney Road. "I had been thinking what a shame it was that it had rained on the day when I expected you to call, only to turn fine on the day you were sure not to call!"
"You overestimated my manners, then. I hope Mrs. Hummel was not shocked to find a stranger at her door on a Sunday. I could not bear to stay inside another moment."
"It is a lovely day to be outdoors," Kurt agreed. "And I am sure my stepmother considered the surprise a pleasant one. As for me, I confess I have so little religious feeling that I am no more easily offended on Sunday than on any other day of the week."
When Mr. Anderson did not reply, Kurt added "Now I have stunned you into silence."
"No, forgive me. I was thinking of something else."
"You were thinking of how wicked I am and how corrupting my influence will be."
"I do not think you are wicked at all," Mr. Anderson said, slipping his arm around Kurt's. "Though my opinion on such matters must count for little, as I became corrupted long before we met. It is a consequence of having too much education. Eton alone would have been bad enough, but then I read Greats at Oxford and now I am practically a pagan."
"You must be very clever."
"I am very useless. Did you go to school, Mr. Hummel?"
"No, I was educated privately."
"That must be why you seem so innocent."
Kurt could not read the expression on his friend's face, and was not certain whether he was being teased. He was certain that he did not wish to seem innocent. Kurt wanted to be considered cultured and sophisticated. He must endeavor to show Mr. Anderson that he understood the ways of the world.
"I always thought it must be very jolly to go to school," he said. "To play games and have nicknames and all that. Did you have a nickname?"
"Andy, for Anderson. Dandy Andy." Mr. Anderson rolled his eyes. "I am not fond of it. You may call me Blaine, if you like."
"Blaine," Kurt said, trying it out. "Please call me Kurt."
"I will, Kurt." Blaine favored him with a brief but brilliant smile that made Kurt's heart flutter in his chest like a bird in a cage.
He felt so happy whenever he was with Blaine. He felt happier still to know himself now such an intimate friend of that gentleman that they might call each other by their first names. Yet Kurt could not stop himself from longing for an intimacy greater than friendship. They had known each other such a short time, but Kurt was half in love with Blaine already.
Blaine must never know. If Kurt could manage not to betray himself during his remaining weeks in Bath, he and Blaine could part as friends. They could write to each other. They might even arrange to visit each other. If nothing else, they could at least remember each other fondly. None of that would happen if Blaine ever so much as suspected the truth. Kurt hated keeping such a secret from his friend, but at the same time he was terrified that he might give himself away.
How confusing it was to feel so many things at once!
They continued walking quietly for several minutes while Kurt attempted to arrange his thoughts. Blaine seemed content not to say anything, but the silence began to make Kurt feel uncomfortable. It would be better to talk, though not on any particularly personal or serious topic. Kurt tried to think of something frivolous yet engaging. As they passed the Caroline Buildings, he seized upon the name for inspiration.
"It occurs to me that I have not asked your opinion of the Princess of Wales," Kurt said. "I am irrationally partial towards her, for she shares her name with my stepmother."
"Having met your stepmother, I do not think the two ladies share the same character," Blaine replied. "The Princess would be happier than she is, were she as good a woman as Mrs. Hummel."
"Do you not think the Prince Regent has been very horrid to her?"
"I cannot argue with you on that point. He has behaved disgracefully."
"They say he never cared for her at all, the poor creature. I do not know why he married her to begin with."
"Perhaps he had little choice."
"He is the Prince of Wales!" Kurt exclaimed. "He could have married whoever he liked."
"A title does not make a man free to marry as his heart wishes. Quite the opposite. The loftier the title, the fewer the number of ladies who might be considered suitable brides."
"He might still have chosen one he cared for. I think it is a terrible thing to marry without love."
Blaine seemed to hesitate before responding, though the pause was so brief that Kurt was not sure of its significance. "Sometimes it cannot be avoided," he said. "Yet such couples may come to love each other in time. Consider how devoted the Queen remains to the King, even in his sad condition. I believe she must truly love him, though they were hardly acquainted when they married."
"The Queen is a most excellent lady," Kurt said. "I have always thought she seemed so kindhearted, and of course I think highly of anyone who is such a great lover of music."
This was his honest opinion, but Kurt was also eager to turn the conversation in a different direction. He did not like feeling that he was arguing with Blaine. The topic of music was a pleasant one for both gentleman, and kept them occupied until they had nearly reached the base of Beechen Cliff.
Blaine paused to gaze up at the hill as they approached. "It is striking, is it not?"
"I can never look at it without thinking of the south of France," Kurt said. This was the highest compliment he could bestow upon any landscape.
"You have been abroad then?" asked Blaine, surprised.
"Oh! No, I only mean what I have read about. I suppose you have been abroad many times with your father."
Blaine shook his head. "I have never been anywhere. My father says he had enough of travel when he was in the Navy. He is fond of Bath, and we go to London for the Season, but that is all."
This was far more of the world than Kurt had seen, but he did not wish to admit it. Instead he asked "Is the path very steep?"
"Steep, but not wild," said Blaine. "Though some places may be slippery from the rain."
They made their way upwards, pausing now and then to admire the view and catch their breath. The ascent took enough of Kurt's energy and concentration that he had little left for conversation.
At last they reached the summit. Kurt was so taken by the view of Bath and the surrounding country that he forgot about being sophisticated. He exclaimed in the most artless manner about the beauty of the prospect, the great distance they could see, and how small the buildings of Bath appeared.
"Look, there is the Royal Crescent!" he cried. "Which one is your house, Blaine? Is it the second or the third from the end?"
"The third," Blaine said, from farther down than Kurt expected. Kurt turned and found his friend sitting in the grass a little distance away, his back resting against a fallen tree trunk.
"I forgot you had been here before," Kurt said, embarrassed with himself again. "I suppose after the first time it is not so exciting to see your house from afar."
Blaine squinted up at him. "Will you sit with me? The grass is quite dry."
Kurt sat down carefully beside his friend, drawing his knees up so his trousers did not touch the grass and dirt more than was necessary. "Are you very tired from our walk?" he asked. "I hope you did not overexert yourself for my sake."
"No, I am perfectly all right. I only want to tell you something." Blaine cleared his throat. "This is rather awkward, but I fear I have allowed you to form a mistaken impression of me. I do not want you to go on thinking that I am someone that I am not."
Kurt raised one eyebrow, an expression he had practiced in the looking glass until he had perfected it. "Who are you, then?"
Blaine sighed. "I hardly know myself."
"I am afraid I cannot help you with that problem," said Kurt. "I did not study philosophy at Oxford."
"That is just what I mean! You think that I am a fine gentleman who has been to university, and has a lot of pocket money, and will inherit a grand estate and a title, and—"
"And it is not true?"
"Worse than that. It is true, but it should not be." Blaine sighed again. "I am not a native here, nor to this manner born," he said, inverting Hamlet. "I am the younger son of a younger son, and half-foreign besides. I should not stand to inherit anything at all if not for the deaths of three men better suited to the role of Lord Dalton than I shall ever be."
"They were your brothers?" Kurt asked gently. When they had first met, Blaine had mentioned that his mother had passed away some years before. He had never spoken of any siblings. Kurt had assumed that Blaine was, like himself, the only son of a widower.
"One brother," Blaine said. His voice had become hoarse. "A brother, an uncle, and a cousin. My father is Lord Dalton now, and there are none left after him but me." He brought a hand up to shield his face, but Kurt had already seen the tears pooling in his eyes.
"Here, please, take my handkerchief." Kurt pulled one from his pocket and pressed it into Blaine's hand. "I am so sorry. How sad for your family."
Kurt wanted to do more to comfort his friend than offering him a handkerchief and a few commonplace words. He longed to embrace Blaine, to hold him until his grief subsided, but he did not dare. He could not expect that Blaine would trust his motives. Kurt did not entirely trust them himself. He would not take advantage of his friend's distress. Any gesture he made must be of a purely fraternal nature. Kurt tried to think what Finley would do.
After a moment's hesitation, he began to pat Blaine on the shoulder as though calming a horse. This was both unromantic and effective. Blaine dried his eyes and seemed to regain his composure, though he kept his head bowed.
"You are very kind," Blaine said, twisting the handkerchief in his hands. "Kinder than I deserve. I was not crying for my brother, though that is what any decent man would do. I was crying only for myself. Had he lived, I might have gone away. He could have been the heir and I could have been the black sheep of the family. Instead I must be both at once."
"I cannot believe you are the black sheep, unless that is meant only as a description of your hair." Blaine glanced up at Kurt and smiled weakly. Kurt gave him another pat before settling back against the tree trunk. "Blaine, you will not be the first younger son to inherit a title. When that day comes I am sure you will be a fine baron. Until then, it must be a great comfort to your father to have you at home."
"I am nothing but a disappointment to him."
"He must feel the loss of your brother greatly. That does not mean he is disappointed in you."
"That is not why he is disappointed in me." Blaine sighed and dabbed at his eyes with the handkerchief again. "He cannot forgive me for what I did."
Kurt knew that fathers and sons sometimes quarreled. He clashed with his own father on occasion. This was upsetting when it happened, but they always made up again. "Perhaps it is not as bad as you think," Kurt said. "Your father may be angry now, but it will pass."
"You do not understand."
"No, I do not, for you will not speak plainly. I doubt that whatever you did was really so terrible, though."
"I did not think so, at the time," Blaine said. "I did not think it was wrong to fall in love."
Happy creature that was loved by Blaine Anderson! Kurt envied her, whoever she was. She must be very beautiful and charming. Yet Blaine had not married her, and it had led to a falling out between father and son. "Your father did not approve?"
"It was not a suitable attachment. I knew that, but I was too young and too foolish to conceal my feelings. I did not consider the consequences. I was not concerned about myself, and I did not expect that...that my beloved would be the one to suffer for it."
"Was she a married lady?"
Blaine shook his head. "I have never loved a lady," he said in a flat tone.
"You mean she was common." A maidservant, perhaps. A farmer's daughter. An actress. There were many women who would be considered unsuitable matches for a baron's son.
Blaine looked at Kurt for what seemed like a long time. When he finally answered, it was with a single word. "No."
Kurt inhaled sharply. He did not trust himself to reply at once. He feared his own hopes were causing him to misinterpret Blaine's meaning. He had to be certain. In a voice scarcely more than a whisper, Kurt asked "A man?"
Blaine looked away. "You are disgusted," he said. "I do not blame you."
"I...I did not realize..."
"I will go," Blaine said, standing.
"No, please wait." Kurt scrambled to his feet. Blaine stopped, but did not turn around. "I meant to say that I did not realize...that we were so much alike. That you had a heart like mine."
Blaine turned to face Kurt. He said nothing, but Kurt read the mixture of anticipation and uncertainty in his eyes. He must feel the way Kurt had felt a moment before, hoping but not quite daring to believe that he had found a kindred spirit.
Kurt smiled shyly and nodded. Blaine stepped towards him and took Kurt's hands in his. Suddenly Kurt felt intensely aware of everything around him: the smell of the grass, the breeze rustling through the leaves, the soft golden color of the late afternoon light. He could feel the warmth of Blaine's hands even through their gloves.
Blaine looked up at him through the dark fringe of his lashes. "Have you been lonely, like me?"
"For such a long time," Kurt whispered.
There was no one else about. The world had gone quiet except for the pounding of Kurt's heart. Now, he thought, surely now Blaine would kiss him.
He did not.
He squeezed Kurt's hands affectionately and said "Then we must keep each other company. I felt the day we met that you and I were meant to be such good friends."
Blaine smiled so sweetly when he said this that it hardly hurt at all.