An Illegal Affection – Epilogue
A/N: Since it was in such high demand I'm writing an epilogue (mostly because you guys didn't like my sad ending. Sorry, but I have a wild fascination with sad endings for FrUk…).
Don't be frightened by the size of this chapter! Only 3,086 words are from the story, the rest are historical notes, translations, fun facts and a closing statement about the story.
Arthur stared up at the immaculate estate on the rolling hills of Aquitaine. He had been dreaming for several nights what the grand home would look like. He stood there studying every detail of the light pink home, with its two pearl pillars framing the grand patio where the white double doors rested. Forty-five years later and his blonde hair was replaced with silver grey, though the scruffy texture was still present. His shiny emerald green eyes were now dark and surrounded by wrinkled skin.
After Francis had been taken away Arthur went back to a structured routine, though it was an irregular quiet one. He had, grudgingly, assisted Gonson in obtaining the position of Attorney General and Gonson remained in the spot until his death in 1765. After Arthur had completed his internship under Samuel Barlow he opened his own practice. As a reward for his help in moving up the ladder Gonson supported and promoted Arthur's law firm. Despite the manners and the pleasant attitude Arthur tried to wear each day he could not fully mask his detest for the man – and they both new it.
Gonson also introduced to and, to put it lightly, arranged a marriage for him to the daughter of a well-to-do family. They managed to produce three sons: Alfred, Matthew and Peter. Alfred was headstrong like his father and a year after his eighteenth birthday he headed across the ocean to the colony of Massachusetts to become a merchant. There was much talk of war breaking out in the colonies and Alfred had gotten caught up in it. Despite all the letters Arthur sent warning him not to stir up trouble, Alfred, who eventually settled on being a printer, continued to defy both his father and the Mother Land. His youngest, Peter, was a rambunctious boy, always needing attention. He was skilled with his hands and had recently made his way out to Southern Wales to jumpstart an ironworks business. If Alfred had gotten Arthur's stubborn, aggressive attitude, his middle son, Matthew, had definitely gotten his brains. As much as Arthur loved Matthew there was something terrifying about him. It was Matthew that reminded Arthur of him the most. Silky, wavy blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes with a light, soft face and calm demeanor. In so many ways he was just like Francis. From a young age the boy had grown the habit of asking his father why his attitude would suddenly change. He would also, from time to time, speak French as he was studying the language at school by choice. It was during these moments Arthur had to excuse himself and shut himself up in his room. Matthew, too, eventually moved away. He was given a position as a translator in Quebec after France lost the colony of Canada to Britain in the Seven Years War. Arthur wondered if Francis had any children…
The Brit slowly carried himself up the stairs, pausing at each step in hesitation. A million questions swirled in his head: Would Francis recognize him? Did the Frenchman even remember him? Did he still care for him?
Reaching the final step, standing in front of the door, he sighed and spoke quietly to himself, "I hope this isn't too awkward."
He raised a fist to grab the silver knocker and tapped the door with it. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst.
A young woman, still in her teens, opened the door. Her sharp blue eyes were vibrant against her pale skin and jet black hair. She stood rather still in her light blue dress and dark boots, waiting for the old man to say something.
"Um, yes." Arthur started, "Hello. My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm looking for Francis Bonnefoy."
She blinked and nodded, recognizing the name of the man the visitor was inquiring about, "Un moment, si vous plait."
The young woman ushered herself back into the depth of the home calling for someone as she rushed down the hall. When she returned a young gentleman accompanied her.
"Sorry, sir," He started in broken English, "The maid does not speak English."
"Oh," Arthur said nonchalantly, "Well, there's no problem with that."
"It is my understanding," the gentleman continued, "that you are looking for the Duc."
"The Duc?" Arthur questioned. Recalling their last day together Arthur remembered that France's father was someone very important. He was a duc himself…ah! Duc D'Aquitaine! Arthur was rather embarrassed that he had not figured that out sooner. He knew about Francis's father being the Duc but hadn't made the connection that Francis, being the only son of the Duc, would inherit the title. Arthur shook his head, feeling silly that he had not put it together sooner – it was rather uncharacteristic of him, a sign of age, surely.
"Would you like to see him?" The man had carried on while Arthur was lost in thought. This was the second time the gentleman had to ask the question.
"Oh, yes. Please." Arthur smiled, "We're good friends, he and I."
The maid frowned, she must have thought it was strange that a Brit and a Frenchman could be friends, especially after they had just fought a major war with each other – and another one was threatening.
The gentleman seemed much friendlier as he guided Arthur through the grand home. He led the Brit past the winding, grand staircase positioned perfectly in the centre of the foyer and down the hall leading to the back of the home, following the bright red carpet. Along the way Arthur admired all the fancy paintings – some were of women, others fruit and others still were locations. Occasionally, the travelling pair would cross paintings of Francis's family members. He passed one that he was sure not to miss, Francis's father, the man who took Francis away all those years ago. The former Duc had long passed away – leaving only one son to carry on his legacy.
At last they finally reached their destination, the sunroom at the back of the house. In the room were two visible figures, the first a woman with long blonde, braided hair and sharp facial features. She looked incredibly wealthy and, on first impressions, rather snobby in her light pink dress. The person across from her was…
"Francis…" Arthur whispered to himself.
"It will just be a moment," The gentleman directed him to sit in a seat placed near the door of the sunroom, "The Duc is just finishing a visit with his daughter, she's scheduled to go back to Monaco this evening."
Ah…so Francis did have children then. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle thinking of what kind of expression the Frenchman must have been wearing when he had relations with his wife. If he really didn't like the woman as much as he claimed he didn't it'd be rather comical to see.
Arthur sat patiently, almost dozing off. He was stirred when the woman passed him barely even acknowledging his existence. He watched her walk down the hallway, disappearing out of sight.
"Arthur?"
Suddenly a sharp jolt shot through the heart of the Englishman. The voice he had been waiting to hear for forty-five years abruptly crawled its self into his ear, warming his soul.
"Is that you?"
Francis's voice was just as confident as it had been so many years ago. Despite that, Arthur was still afraid to turn around and face his long-lost companion.
"Arthur, did you really come all this way just to ignore me? If so why don't you go home."
"Naff off you damned idiot! Do you really think I'd come all this way for nothing!" Arthur whipped himself around and stared into the deep blue eyes of the Frenchman. His heart stopped. Those eyes were just as hypnotic as they had been so long ago.
Francis laughed, "You are still the same, my friend. I am sure your temper has caused you much trouble, non?"
"Well," Arthur stood slowly as to not disjoint his knees, "I probably wouldn't have if you had been around. You always knew how to calm me down."
Francis frowned. He couldn't think of a good response for that. In truth he had wanted to go back, he had even tried, several times! But no matter how hard he tried something or someone always got in the way. After a while he just stopped trying, thinking that Arthur had probably forgotten about him anyway. Imagine his surprise when his first cousin (twice removed) informed him that an old gentleman named Arthur Kirkland was waiting to speak with him. The Frenchman could barely contain his excitement.
"The most important thing is that you are here now." Was the only replied he could muster up.
"Yes, I suppose." Arthur nodded. Looking back to the hallway he imposed himself, "So that was your daughter, was it?"
"Yes, Marguerite." Francis answered.
"So you did it then," Arthur turned back, "You married that woman…"
"Ugh," the Frenchman sighed, "She is dead now and good riddance to her."
Arthur frowned, "That's a terrible thing to say. My wife wasn't anything spectacular but I wouldn't go as far as to wish her dead."
"You have a wife?"
"Had, actually. She's passed now as well." Arthur couldn't bring himself to tell Francis about how he had met his wife. He didn't want Francis looking down on him.
"I never pictured you as a family man." Francis said blandly.
"Really?" The Londoner blink, "Well I have three sons, so obviously I am."
Francis laughed, "Having children does not make one a family man. Look at Rousseau, he had children and then abandoned them. Brilliant mind, terrible father."
"My sons are all very well-to-do."
"And so is my daughter…but unfortunately she has her mother's attitude."
It was Arthur's turn to laugh, "Well all of my children have my attitude."
Except one…
"Oh," Arthur began to correct himself, "Well there is Matthew. I think you'd like him. He speaks French you know."
"Oh really," Francis responded with intrigue, "That's very good. Is he in France?"
"No. Canada."
"I see." Francis paused for a moment before he was reminded of something. "I've been waiting for a while now."
"Yes, yes, we both have."
"No," Francis corrected the Brit, "I mean biz, biz, biz."
Arthur blinked, "Why are you making buzzing noises?"
The Frenchman broke out into laugher, "You know, you said something like that last time too."
The Brit closed his eyes and thought hard. Suddenly it dawned on him and he blushed, "Ah, that's right."
"Well?"
The pinkness in his cheeks brightened, but Arthur was just as eager as his counterpart. He looked around to make sure the young gentleman who guided him in was nowhere in sight before he leant in for a kiss.
When their lips met a flood of memories swept them: the day they met, the fire at the inn, the wax museum and the circus. Other memories came back too some raunchy, others heartbreaking.
Breaking apart Francis maintained his gentle smile, "How long do you plan to stay here?"
Arthur smirked in response, "How long can I?"
The French laughed lightly, "However long you want."
"Well then," The Brit had been carrying a suitcase with him as he intended to stay for a fair amount of time, provided he could, "You stayed at my home for about a month, I expect you to pay it back."
"I don't owe you a month, Arthur."
The old Englishman looked up; removing his eyes from the suitcase he placed on the chair where he had waited minutes before. He stared at Francis with a sort of sad worry.
The Frenchman continued to smile softly, "I owe you forty-five years."
"Ugh," Arthur moaned aloud, "You really haven't changed at all, have you? Still spill out all your cheesy nonsense. I shouldn't be surprised…you are French."
Francis giggled, "We do like our cheese."
Arthur frowned at his lover's tacky statement but it brought back a feeling inside of him, "Speaking of cheese, you wouldn't happen to have anything to eat would you? I'm starving."
"But, of course, mon amour."
)()()()()()(
The cook placed the roasted meat on the table with a face that clearly showed he felt awkward. Arthur had requested roast beef and the French chef was not thrilled to make such an unrefined meal. Francis brushed off his concerns telling the middle-aged man that Arthur was a guest and was welcome to have whatever he'd like. Of course, that meant taking a trip to the market a half hour carriage ride away and searching every nook and cranny to find even a tiny clump of the English "delicacy".
Taking a whiff of the beef he sliced a piece off and placed it on his plate a long with vegetables and bread – fancy white bread. It was no wonder the French government had financed a special police unit just to monitor the making and distributing of the stuff.
Looking across the long table – long enough to seat twenty-two people- Arthur stared at a variety of foods. Some he was familiar with: potatoes, peas, cucumbers, onions, olives, peppers, mushroom; others he was not: madeleine cakes, smooth and flavoured ice sorbets and a strange type of strawberry he'd never seen before (he was used to the Wild Strawberry, or Fragaria Vesca). There were also a variety of sauces he'd never seen or tasted before like buchamel.
He reached over to grab onto the sterling silver ladle sitting in a pot of mushroom soup. He poured himself a bowl and smelt the concoction before taking a bite. The creamy texture on his tongue made him melt inside.
"By the look on your face I can see that you are enjoying yourself." Francis smiled, his chin resting on his hands that were neatly folded together, propped up by his elbows.
Arthur frowned, "You shouldn't have your elbows on the table, it's not proper etiquette."
The Frenchman shrugged but said nothing.
After finishing their meal: soup, salad, main course, dessert and all, Francis ushered Arthur up the stairs to settle him into one of the guestrooms.
Opening the door to one of the many guestrooms on the second floor Francis carried in Arthur's bag – despite the Englishman's refusal for help – and settled them on the queen sized bed.
The room was sharp splash of red. The walls were red, the bed duvet was red, the bed curtains were, the floor was a red wooden colour and the –
"What the devil is that!" Arthur pointed to a long, wooden structure that looked like a somewhat like a child's riding horse.
Francis laughed, "It's a bidet. You use it to wash yourself after you've…uh…relieved yourself."
"Is that so…" Arthur was studying the funny looking device with curiosity. He had never seen a bidet before and it was rather intriguing.
"Well, it's almost nightfall so…I'll leave you to rest." Francis nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The sky beyond the window was darkening meaning a candle would have to be lit. Arthur crossed the floor to the bedside table to fetch some matches when an idea dawned on him.
)()()()()()(
Francis sat comfortably under the covers and duvet of his king sized bed. In his hands was a report from the doctor a village over. It informed him of the death of one of his long time servants, Jacque, who, in his last few months, suffered terribly from smallpox. The disease was spreading fast around Europe and no one was spared, including kings.
Francis had begun to show signs of it little more than a year ago but had partaken in the new practice of variolation, by which a little bit of the pus of someone who was infected is inserted into the wound of a healthy person so their body would learn how to fit it. By allowing himself to be exposed to it while healthy and in small doses his body learned to fight it and he was able to overcome the disease when it struck him. Luckily, there were no lasting scars.
Taking off his glasses he placed them on the side table along with the paper. He sighed making a mental note that he would have to find a replacement servant. Blowing out the candle he slid farther down underneath the covers and tucked himself in. He was about to drift off to sleep when his door made a cracking noise.
The sound of creaking wood made it clear someone was entering the room. Francis opened an eye while remaining calm as if nothing was bothering him, to see who was there. He opened them fully and sat up when the figure was clear.
"Arthur, what are you doing in my room?"
Looking away the Brit blushed, "I was bored. That's all."
Francis smiled softly, "You were lonely."
His comment made Arthur shoot a rather nasty glance, "Okay, okay, you weren't lonely…but you certainly wanted to be here with me."
Sighed the Englishman conceded, "I suppose that's fair enough."
Without a word or a gesture of an invite Arthur slipped into the bed next to Francis. He curled up the other, who was back in a sleeping position, head resting against a few fluffy pillows.
"You know, I realized something."
"What?" Francis's eyes were now shut and he was breathing calmly.
"You do owe me forty-five years."
Francis opened his eyes and stared at his lover, "I don't think we'll live that long."
Arthur snuggled closer to the Frenchmen, burying his head into Francis's neck. He muttered quietly, "Then I guess we'll just have to go as far as we can."
Francis ran his fingers through the Brit's silver grey hair, "Arthur we're almost in our 70s, I'm surprised you even made it here."
Arthur pulled back shooting a glare at his companion.
The Frenchman gave a nervous smile, "Okay…maybe not you, since it IS you…but the average person rarely lasts this long."
The Londoner frowned, "We lasted."
"But for how much longer?"
Arthur snorted, "I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I could die tomorrow and be just fine with that."
Francis blinked with curiosity, "Oh, why is that?"
"Because," Arthur buried himself back into the man he had waited patiently to be with again for nearly two thirds of his life. He hummed softly as Francis wrapped his arms around the Brit's waist while laying his head gently on top of the other's.
"I'm with you."
Historical Notes:
~Gonson really did die in 1765, but never became Attorney General, nor is it known that he ever tried to become that. He spent his life as Justice of the Peace and Chairman of the Quarter Sessions for Westminster. The Quarter Sessions refers to the courts at the Old Bailey – there were four held every year (which is something I changed in this story too…sorry).
~The American Revolution has its origins in the 1760s with the amalgamation of Canada into the British Empire. The Americans feared the French Canadians and were annoyed that the British were allowing them to keep their religion, culture and language. They demanded protection from the French. When the British said "Sure, but you have to pay for it…" the Americans again lashed out…they wanted protection, but they didn't want to pay for it… Everything from there kind of goes downhill…
~The Ironworks industry dates back to the late 18th century. The oldest ironworks mill in Wales, Cyfarthfa, dates to 1765.
~Canada fell to the British (English, Scots, Irish and Americans) in 1760, but was not fully integrated until 1763 when France finally signed the Treaty of Paris (1763). Acadia, another part of Canada (the Maritimes essentially), fell earlier in the 1750s.
~A "first cousin, twice removed" is the great-grandson of ones parent's sibling. OR in other words the "first cousin, twice removed" is Francis's father's sibling's (in this case elder sister) great-grandson.
~Jean-Jacque Rousseau was claimed to be a terrible parent by Voltaire and Edmund Burke because when his lover gave birth to their children (we know for sure of one son, but it is suggested there were three others) he convinced her to give them away to a foundling hospital (a shelter home created for children who had been abandoned).
~Yes, the French really did have a special "police" unit to ensure bread was high quality and did not go to waste. They also made sure that everyone got their fair share and that the price of bread didn't spiral out of control.
~madeleine cakes (1760s) & ice sorbets reached England in the 1760s.
~I'm sure we all know what smallpox is. It spread rapidly in the late 18th century and killed up to 400,000 Europeans per year. Both Czar Peter of Russia (1730) and French King Louis XV (1774) died from the disease. This particular scene is a shout out to KaiyoUchiha who gave me suggestions for an epilogue. I ended up taking my own route but I thought I'd give a bit of a tribute to her idea (even though it was Arthur who was supposed to be sick…sorry!)
French Translation:
~Un moment, si vous plait – One moment, please.
Random Fun Fact: Since we're all FrUk fans here I'd love to leave you with one totally funny "fun fact". Apparently, England thinks it/he created Champagne. Check out this article (every letter is spaced out): h t t p : / / m I n d s o r b e t . b l o g s p o t . c o m / 2 0 0 8 / 0 9 / g I v I n g – b I r t h – t o – c h a m p a g n e . h t m l (remember to change the big "I"'s to little ones).
Random Fun Fact2: There's a famous French food critic from the 17th century named Nicolas Bonnefon (does that surname not sound eerily similar to another Frenchman's whom we all love?) who's famous for revolutionizing not just French cuisine, but the way Europe as a whole ate.
Random Fun Fact3: Since I mentioned a similarity in Francis's name to history, I should throw out one about Arthur too. How about this? Apparently the legendary King Arthur is based off a prince from…wait for it…WALES! NOT ENGLAND! So in summury…King Arthur is Welsh, not English. (Wonders if she'll be blamed by English readers)
-Note: To be fair, in Arthur's time there really was no "England", "Wales", etc...it was just a collection of Celtic tribes...but still...I'm just gunna bug you guys about it anyway.
Random Fun Fact4: One of the earliest Kings of England's name was "Alfred the Great"…he was known for being a terrible cook. XD Kind of makes you wonder if England had anything to do with the naming of America… I wonder if Alfred the Great's cakes were florescent too…? We certainly know they were burnt...lol!
Random Fun Fact5: Remember when I pointed out that one of the French prince's was thought to be gay (chapter 5)? Well, there have been a couple of English Kings who were rumoured to be homosexual as well including: Richard the Lion Heart (some contemporary historians claim he was homosexual, while others claim him to be bisexual – an even smaller number hypothesize he had a relationship with Philip II of France…hmmm…), Edward II (factually known to be one) and King James Stuart (who was sometimes referred to as "Queen James").
ENDING THOUGHTS: Thank you SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much to everyone who read this story and reviewed it – even if you didn't review and read it all the way through I thank you! It's not often I get excited about a story to the point where I'm adding to it everyday and end up having the whole story completed in a month's time (not including the epilogue). I'm very proud of this story because of all the work I put into doing research for it and the dedication I had in writing it. Hopefully there will be more stories like this from me in the future!