A/N Sorry about the delay in posts (for those who care) Have been inundated
with work and such, and have had minor writer's block, but now has been
fixed. Enjoy!
Chapter 3 - School Daze
George and Henry grew closer in friendship, but George desired more. He didn't question whether his 'preferences' were justified, or even sane. But for now he was prepared to wait, and savour until Henry is ready.
School can be a cruel place; it can also be the site of one's most pleasurable memories, and George intended it to be the latter. But the world never moves in the way we would wish. Darcy Senior may have no prejudice against a young steward's son of effeminate appearance, but Sir Edward Littleton, headmaster at Eton, certainly did. A respected family man with a respectably sized estate, he intended to maintain Eton as a respected establishment for respectable young men. And he wasn't allowing any ragamuffins into his school.
George may have been sponsored by Mr Darcy, but he would not be sharing chambers with his dear friend Henry. Littleton had recently fired his valet for incompetence, and here was someone who looked like he needed putting in his place. Being valet to the headmaster of Eton is no small task, and so George missed out on many of his classes.
***************************************************
George looked out of his chamber window next door to the headmaster's quarters. There on the courtyard bench sat young Henry Darcy, resplendent in his smart navy uniform and red sash. Always dedicated to his studies, he quietly read a large black leather-bound book that lay across his lap. The early evening glow cast a shadow over half his face, emphasising the faultless profile. His slim fingers, untainted by rough work, caressed the page he was reading, and George's eyes instantly misted over in imagined pleasure.
George glanced down at his own lined scarred hands. Being valet to the headmaster of Eton also entailed a great deal of polishing of numerous silver and brass trophies, not to mention the shaky art of shaving a fifty- three year old man's face with a bare blade. In fear of cutting Littleton's skin, George often ended up injuring his own fingers.
George looked back to where Darcy had been seated and started slightly when he saw he was not there. A faint tingling on the nape of his neck made him turn his gaze towards the building on the opposite side of the courtyard. And there stood Henry, gazing directly at him. When their eyes, met, his mouth lifted in a calm smile of friendship. George's response was more strained, but seemingly composed none-the-less.
Good God, he is so beautiful. His smiling countenance, his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, his finely tailored uniform, his tight-fitting breeches, his...
***********************************************
Even from this distance, Henry sensed an uncomfortable wave pulse in the air between him and his friend. He swiftly strode up the steps into the building, and out of sight of his avid friend. Being a young man gifted with intelligence as well as good looks, he had quickly discovered the plight of his dear friend. But Henry was no rabble-rouser, and he dared not question the headmaster of Eton. In fact, George was indeed honoured to have such an esteemed job. It is not every day that a steward's son living in the North Country has a chance to be valet to Sir Edward Littleton.
Having convinced himself that George was indeed perfectly happy, he walked jauntily to his chamber and removed his clothing to wash himself, unaware that on the other side of the courtyard behind a window stood a steward's son with sandy brown hair and intense blue eyes, watching him eagerly with a monocular in one hand, and his other hand...
Chapter 3 - School Daze
George and Henry grew closer in friendship, but George desired more. He didn't question whether his 'preferences' were justified, or even sane. But for now he was prepared to wait, and savour until Henry is ready.
School can be a cruel place; it can also be the site of one's most pleasurable memories, and George intended it to be the latter. But the world never moves in the way we would wish. Darcy Senior may have no prejudice against a young steward's son of effeminate appearance, but Sir Edward Littleton, headmaster at Eton, certainly did. A respected family man with a respectably sized estate, he intended to maintain Eton as a respected establishment for respectable young men. And he wasn't allowing any ragamuffins into his school.
George may have been sponsored by Mr Darcy, but he would not be sharing chambers with his dear friend Henry. Littleton had recently fired his valet for incompetence, and here was someone who looked like he needed putting in his place. Being valet to the headmaster of Eton is no small task, and so George missed out on many of his classes.
***************************************************
George looked out of his chamber window next door to the headmaster's quarters. There on the courtyard bench sat young Henry Darcy, resplendent in his smart navy uniform and red sash. Always dedicated to his studies, he quietly read a large black leather-bound book that lay across his lap. The early evening glow cast a shadow over half his face, emphasising the faultless profile. His slim fingers, untainted by rough work, caressed the page he was reading, and George's eyes instantly misted over in imagined pleasure.
George glanced down at his own lined scarred hands. Being valet to the headmaster of Eton also entailed a great deal of polishing of numerous silver and brass trophies, not to mention the shaky art of shaving a fifty- three year old man's face with a bare blade. In fear of cutting Littleton's skin, George often ended up injuring his own fingers.
George looked back to where Darcy had been seated and started slightly when he saw he was not there. A faint tingling on the nape of his neck made him turn his gaze towards the building on the opposite side of the courtyard. And there stood Henry, gazing directly at him. When their eyes, met, his mouth lifted in a calm smile of friendship. George's response was more strained, but seemingly composed none-the-less.
Good God, he is so beautiful. His smiling countenance, his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, his finely tailored uniform, his tight-fitting breeches, his...
***********************************************
Even from this distance, Henry sensed an uncomfortable wave pulse in the air between him and his friend. He swiftly strode up the steps into the building, and out of sight of his avid friend. Being a young man gifted with intelligence as well as good looks, he had quickly discovered the plight of his dear friend. But Henry was no rabble-rouser, and he dared not question the headmaster of Eton. In fact, George was indeed honoured to have such an esteemed job. It is not every day that a steward's son living in the North Country has a chance to be valet to Sir Edward Littleton.
Having convinced himself that George was indeed perfectly happy, he walked jauntily to his chamber and removed his clothing to wash himself, unaware that on the other side of the courtyard behind a window stood a steward's son with sandy brown hair and intense blue eyes, watching him eagerly with a monocular in one hand, and his other hand...