XXX

Arthur hoped so hard that he almost prayed that the man and the woman in the next room were not Francis with yet another lady.

Because this was just fucking ridiculous.

He had hoped to escape the Ball at his business partner's affluent manor house and retire early to his room. Unfortunately, some poor soul with some lucky bastard had happened to be just in the room adjacent. He would move, but all of his things just happened to be there, since, you know, he's been staying at Lord Francis' manor house for the past three months and all.

Also, everyone at the Ball that he had attempted to talk to in the past four hours or so seemed to be all-too-interested in the man next to him, Lord Bonnefoy. Even when he tried, they all ignored him.

Well, that was fine with him. Most of the people who made up those balls just took up space on his "to-hate" list, so . . .

He stayed.

XXX

It had been half an hour since Madeleine remembered seeing her cousin last, and she figured it was that time of night anyway. If they were lucky, the two would separate before the rest of the guests made their way home; no one the wiser as to what happened on a regular basis behind the closed doors of one Lord Francis Bonnefoy.

It was sort of ridiculous how familiar she was with Francis' routine had become to her, actually.

Though many of the young, personable and well off of Europe could boast of knowing Francis on an intimate level, there seemed to be an unspoken rule about the Manor house that became the knowledge of many a guest who had decided to visits there. Any woman could boast of virginity, but none would be ever so inclined to admit to such promiscuity. Indeed, being secretive about a night with Francis was probably a part of the allure; no one the wiser about what had transpired except she and the man she had slept with just moments before. Indeed, it was a twisted yet perfectly functional system that Francis had created for himself following his father's death-and even before he had finally passed-for really, there wasn't anything that could keep Francis from satisfying his more base desires for very long.

Yet, with all of this, Madeleine wished that he would find himself love. Not the type of love that merely came from sex, necessarily; but a love that came from long-held commitment and loving devotion. Madeleine wanted to see her cousin settled down, fat and smiling with some aging woman by his side, counting his blessings while a crowd of grandchildren swarmed about he and his loving wife. She wanted some young hopeful to come around to make him see what kind of love he was missing out on, the kind of love that she hoped and yearned for on the daily herself.

But she felt as if that type of love wouldn't be around for another few years yet.

XXX

Call him creepy, but Arthur was listening intently to the love-making couple in the next room.

(Fifteen minutes had passed and Arthur was sure that this ball was just like all of the other balls, and that he would be more prone to strangle one of Francis' guests to death than actually making small-talk with them.)

And, call him creepy, but Arthur had been listening so intently on the couple next door that he was almost certain that it was Francis in the room adjacent.

He sighed. Leave it to the man who had been his business partner for the better part of three months to be ignorant of that fact that he was fucking some young chit just in the next room. Francis Bonnefoy was knowledgeable in many things. But some reason that Arthur couldn't seem to grasp none of these included how to be a decent human being.

Especially towards the person who had succeeded in adding more money to his fortune than any other individual the lord had probably known.

At that thought, a twinge of jealousy course within him, and Arthur tried very hard to push the feeling aside.

Glass of wine in hand, he pushed the rest of it back in one swift motion, letting its affects both soothe and compel him. He wasn't going to sit all night and torture himself with this; he was going to rejoin the ball and find someone worth his time, dammit.

Wineglass on the nightstand now, Arthur pushed the door to his room and let himself out.

XXX

Okay, so maybe this whole socializing business was harder than it looked.

Still, Madeleine noted, Francis hung around some pretty unsavory company. Everyone at the Ball was glittering and glamorous in the excessive lighting of the manorhouse, but they held inside darker hearts below prettied faces. They were fake, the lot of them; hopeless remnants of a by-gone age—

"God, man, can't you get a decent drink around here? Get me another!"

Except for one, she thought.

Arthur Kirkland was a charmer. Over the past few months Madeleine had grown to know him well, something that she hadn't figured out if she regretted that or not yet. Still, most of the time he wasn't a pain to be around, and right then he seemed to be alone. An Arthur without Francis was probably the most placid Arthur around, so Madeleine made her desperate way over to him.

He had a confused servant locked tight in an armhold. The man with green eyes looked nervous and confused.

She descended upon him like the angel she was. "Arthur, please. You're making the poor man nervous."

"Fuck that. He won't give me my drink."

"It's not my fault, mademoiselle," the servant stuttered nervously. Madeleine tried to strain her memory upon hearing him. The accent was throwing her off. This was the Hispanic one, not the one who spoke Portuguese. Antonio, was it?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—eh—I mean that Francis told me to keep a watch on Arthur's intake?" Antonio smiled warily. Yes, Madeleine concluded. Definitely Antonio. Enzo hardly smiles. "He told me to tell the others too—to stop serving him when it seemed like he'd had too much."

Madeleine glanced over to the mentioned Englishman. He was pouting then, not looking at her. No doubt Arthur knew about this "no drink" rule.

"Arthur, how many drinks have you had?" She asked, half-polite and half-stern.

Arthur looked at her in surprise. A bud of hope seemed to flower there. "Erm . . . four glasses? Maybe five?"

"Since being here?"

Arthur nodded eagerly.

Well, Madeleine thought, this is a special event, after all . . . "Antonio, go ahead and serve the man as much as he wants," Madeleine said. Antonio nodded curtly, disengaging himself from the conversation.

Madeleine turned to Arthur, arms folded.

Arthur frowned. "What is it now?"

"Arthur, you never drink unless you're upset."

Arthur scoffed. "I drink a lot."

"Yes, but—" She pursed her lips, gauging him. He wasn't facing her again, so it was hard to tell how tipsy he was. She pushed him firmly, shoving him with one hand to the shoulder.

The Englishman didn't fall down, but he almost did. "Hey—hey!"

"You're tipsier than normal."

Arthur's frown was deeper than before. "Tipsier than I usually am at this time of night?"

"It's different now. There are people here."

"There were people before. I handled myself."

"Yes, but now there's more around to goad you into doing something you may . . . regret."

Arthur hmmph'd and turned away from her. That's how Madeleine knew he knew that he thought she was right, because he didn't outwardly admit to it. "Well. I may be a little upset, but there's no way in hell that I'm going to tell you why."

"I see."

Madeleine knew that Francis experimented from time to time with the opposite sex, but there had always been something different about Arthur that made her wonder if he didn't swing for the same sex completely. And, being of the fairer sex as she was, she knew that Arthur probably had a bit of a crush on his partner. It definitely explained why he stayed after all of the fighting that the two did; Arthur just couldn't admit to having feelings for the Frenchman. Especially to having feelings for the man who was French and vexed him more than anyone in his life. Knowing Arthur as she did, he had probably gotten upset when he'd seen Francis trail off after yet another one of his lovers. He was just too stubborn of a man to admit it.

Antonio came back with Arthur's drink. Arthur snatched it away from the man like he was angry at him for bringing him wine. Which he probably was. Francis purposely didn't buy whisky or bourbon with Arthur in mind.

Antonio levelled the tray towards her, offering her the last wine on the platter. She declined. No, that's enough for tonight.

She didn't want to be unsteady on her feet. She wanted to dance.

But dance with who? She circled around, looking for someone to come and snatch away from conversation in order to sate her dancing desires. But she found no one.

She sighed inwardly.

"Arthur, would you like to dance?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that an invitation to something . . . more?"

Madeleine had to keep from laughing in his face. Francis had tried to set them up before. It didn't go well. "Please. Just a dance, then I'm going to sit down."

His eyes narrowed in concern.

"Just pacing myself, mon cher. Unlike," she gave him a once-over, "some people."

Arthur rolled his eyes and offered her his hand.

They waited until the last dance was over before allowing themselves to be swept up by the music.

Arthur led, though she sort of thought that she should be the one doing the job. His latest glass on wine made him more hesitant than normal, and he grew more and more unsteady with each turn. Still, Madeleine thought, dancing with him wasn't unpleasant. Sure, he was a bit stiff at times, his hand placed awkwardly on her waist, but still. It wasn't a terrible dance.

"Did I ever mention," Arthur muttered into her ear, "how your eyes match with the color of your dress? Because they do. It's nice."

Madeleine smiled wistfully. She supposed that she would just have to imagine that it was someone else who had commented on her dress—a man who didn't pine after other men.

XXX

The man on the floor was drunk and rambling. A tray with fresh wineglasses in hand, Enzo would've tripped over him had he not been talking to himself.

"Fucking wine," the man murmured. "Fucking Francis. Fuck this bloody ball," the man said, and Enzo realized it was the Englishman who had been staying with Lord Bonnefoy for the past few months. Really, he was more drunk than was past appropriate for one of these things.

Mr. Kirkland looked up to the ceiling like the burden of the world had fallen on his shoulders—which Enzo personally doubted seeing as the man had probably grown up being pampered his entire life. But there was no way in the world he would ever say this out loud, because in this case he valued his job more than he did his personal opinions.

"Who would want to go to this ball, anyway?" Arthur complained. "It's all a game, a show, a play. "Because all the world's a stage, Arthur my boy, and the people in it are just it's goddammed players."

Enzo wondered idly who had said that to him. He didn't let it concern him all that much, however, because really, he still had wineglasses to deliver and a party to attend to.

He almost skirted past him, too, had Arthur not looked over to his side of the hallway. He latched onto him, much like a helpless man to a life raft.

"You!" Arthur said dictatorially, and Enzo stopped in his tracks. The way he had said it was really quite dramatic.

Enzo bowed like the servant he was. "Good evening, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur looked confused. "You know my name?"

One of Enzo's eyebrows twitched. "Of course. You have been staying with Lord Bonnefoy for months."

Arthur looked at him stupidly, trying to place Enzo at the manorhouse any of the times that he had eaten breakfast or dinner with the lord of the manor. And it bugged Enzo to some extent that he'd been serving the man for the past three months now and he didn't even recognize his face.

"You sure?"

"Positive, Mr. Kirkland."

"Huh," said Arthur, glancing up at the ceiling in inebriated wonderment.

Enzo supposed he might as well ask, drunk though he might be. "Would you like anything, sir?"

"I don't think so, no. If I have another glasses, I think I'll throw up."

"Very good, sir," Enzo replied, thinking this to be the end of the conversation. It wasn't, however, and if you had asked him later If he would've been able to guess what in the world would stumble out of the Englishman's mouth next, Enzo would've said that, though he had seen much and heard much around much, he wouldn't have.

"Would you like anything?"

And Enzo's reply was more pathetic than anything the Englishman had done or said thus far.

"Huh?"

"Would you like for me to give you a blowjob?"

"E-excuse me?"

"I've only done it twice before, but I'm sure if I practice I'll be able to get better," Arthur said. "Humor me. It's pretty hard to practice with just one person." Enzo saw that the man was serious. Arthur began to get up on his hands and knees, using the wall beside him for support. "I want to see if I'm still good."

His verbal abilities returned to him. "Sir, that's not really necessary—"

"You don't think so?" Arthur was on his feet now, dangerously close. He put a hand to Enzo's cheek. "You deserve it, with a nice face like your's."

Enzo blinked.

Drunk! he shouted in his mind. This man is drunk and if I let this happen and he happens to remember the next day I may be fired. But his heart was thumping and his cheeks were flushed and even though his stomach was clenched in a way that made him really, really dizzy he still found Arthur's last comment quite flattering . . .

So what was he going to do in some dark hallway that (probably) no one was going to find them in when Arthur lifted the tray of wine glasses from Enzo's fingers and set it on the ground beside them. He wasn't like 'Tonio, he wasn't fit for this life of servitude like he was. He was a proud man, at least, at one point he had been, and could help but be left speechless when the man with the dirty blonde hair began to unbutton his server's vest and began to caress him in the most mind-numbing way possible . . .

And though Enzo kept screaming in his head "I should say something, I should make this stop" he didn't even begin to open his mouth to do so.

No, the only thing that came out of Enzo's mouth for the rest of that night were moans and groans and really everything in between.

Because how could it be my fault, Enzo thought, that Arthur had opened his own trousers and had put his own mouth to do something so illicit that his mother would no doubt beat him until he was black and blue if she ever found out what he was letting this man do to him. But it was a good thing that his mother lived a whole country away, because if she knew that even beyond this Enzo had been enamored with the same sex for well over the time he and the businessman had spent in that hallway near the kitchens she would probably faint right then and there. But, because a drunk Arthur just happened to be his favorite type of Arthur, nothing had happened until then.

But in actuality Enzo thought about none of these things in the heat of the moment. No, what he really thought about went beyond his mother or his sexuality or his station but the fact that he happened to really, really like blowjobs and would try to make an effort in the future to get more of them.

You know, probably after he got fired.

Because at that moment Lovina was peering into the hallway next to the kitchen wondering where the fuck those wineglasses were - which probably wasn't the most Christian thing to think, but hey- she'd go to confession later. Her presence there wasn't something that Enzo had considered at all, not with Arthur's mouth doing—nnngh—

But if he had seen her—and he didn't—he would've known and appreciated the fact that her fellow servant in the Bonnefoy manner had decided to stay silent on discovering the two in the hallway. Not even she knew what she would do with the information now that he had it.

No, all she was focused on doing at the moment was backing up and try to un-see something that she wasn't supposed to have seen in the first place.

XXX

"Did you find him?"

"No." Like an afterthought: "Bastard."

"Where is he?"

A blush. "Didn't see him."

"So, you didn't get any glasses?"

" . . . no."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Do I need to answer to you?"

She did, actually, since 1) Antonio was older than her, 2) Antonio was a man, and automatically her superior, and 3) Even if this weren't 18th century France, Antonio still would've been above her since he had far more work experience being at the manorhouse than she.

"I guess not," Antonio replied (because that made sense). "But don't you think we'll need them?"

"No." Lovina hesitated. "The guests are starting to leave. They'll be fine." And that was the end of that.

What Lovina had said had sort of made sense, because the guests really were getting ready to leave and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to drink anymore, anyway. But still. Lovina sounded like she was hiding something, that maybe she knew something about Enzo that for some reason required secrecy.

Toni let her hide. He'd ask Enzo about it later.

XXX

Translations from Prologue 1:

Je vous remercie, mon douce= Thank you very much, my sweet.

Mon douce fille=my sweet girl

XXX

A/N: WELL this chapter was just all kinds of FUN, wasn't it?

THE PORTUGALXENGLAND HAS BEGUN!

This was longer than I had intended, but after this I'll probably have the chapters a bit longer anyway. I'm not sure about the next time I'll be able to post, but this set of Prologues was just to get the ball rolling, anyway. After this, things will definitely be more faster paced, in a more story-oriented format.

Pleas review~