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Felix stared at me, clearly perplexed, and tugged at a satchel that lay at the end of the sofa.

“That damned fool,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“I’ve been wondering what he said to make you stay away for so long.

No wonder….” He unearthed an envelope from the satchel and gave it a cursory glance before holding it out to me.

“He gave this to me in case you needed convincing. I suppose I didn’t think it would be necessary. ”

I took the envelope, checking the seal and finding it was Charles’s done in a deep navy blue wax, a color that only served to remind me of the suit he had gifted me for the ball.

What could possibly be written within to undo the hurt that he had inflicted upon me?

I slipped my finger under the seal to pop it out of place, removed a few sheets of paper from the inside, and unfolded them to read.

September 13th, 1851

Dear Thomas,

I write this in the aftermath of your departure, so that when an explanation is due I can give you it as freshly as it has happened.

The words that lie here are the truth, the absolute truth, of why I drove you from the house this evening.

I suppose some background is necessary and I hope you will hear it out.

Perhaps by the end of this missive I will have explained in some depth and eased the hurt I caused, and I can only hope that this letter comes before we are both old men and the time for reconciliation has long passed.

I came to you with disgust and anger, betrayal and hatred, but those emotions were not directed at you nor were they born out of anything other than abject fear.

I have always suspected your attractions, and perhaps you will recall the terrible fight I initiated with Percival Harbour in our seventeenth year; I bloodied his nose and blackened his eye because he was spreading such rumors about you and I never wanted them to reach your ears.

The truth is, I have never cared whether you love women or men.

It is simply not an aspect of you that I worry about, because my love for you is as deep as it is for my own brother, and it is that love that pushed me into my treatment of you that night.

It was before dinner on the night of the ball, while you were distracted with Matthew Hughes, that James approached me.

He asked me to meet him in the sunroom, knowing it would be quite empty, and fearing some repeat of his prior poaching scheme, I listened.

I found him armed with the letter I ended up giving you, along with half a dozen more that he had stolen from Arthur’s desk in the library.

They were clear declarations of love, irrefutable evidence, and James said he had others in his possession, even more explicit than the ones he carried with him then.

His demands were simple. If I did not drive you out of the house, force you to drop Arthur and the poaching case both, he would have you arrested for sodomy.

I knew the letters were enough. He had Louis Garretty in his pocket for the blackmail issue, and if he could levy some of that weight again, there was no question he would have carried out this vendetta.

A monetary demand was made as well, but that was nothing compared to the idea of your execution.

The idea of having you cut from my life was better than the idea of having you lose your own, and so I agreed with no reticence.

You know what happened after. I cannot apologize enough.

I am not disgusted by you, nor do I want you gone from my life.

I write this now in the hopes that I can rectify this at some later date, hopefully soon.

I know nothing of what you said to Arthur, except that it has convinced him; he returned from chasing you down and has not left the library since.

Whatever dreadful thing I made you say, I am sorry.

Yours (truly and without pretense),

Charles

Addendum (August 16th, 1854): James is dead. Telegraph has come from Crimea and our aunt has informed us of his passing. Have dispatched Felix by train to fetch you and will give you a proper explanation in person. Far more developments than contained in this writing.

I devoured the letter as quickly as I could read it, my heart twisting in my throat.

Never once had I suspected that James was behind Charles’s actions that night, that he was acting out of anything other than his own disappointment and disgust, and I suppose that was the point.

Charles knew me well enough to know that I never would have left if I had suspected something was amiss with James.

I could see, too, why Charles would have reacted with such fear; if I was drawn up on such charges, Arthur would be soon to follow me to the gallows.

I looked at Felix, stunned. “Did you know any of this?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Not until the word came about James. When Arthur returned that night after chasing you, he was practically mute. Locked himself in the library, did not even see his guests out after the ball. And the next morning… he was back to normal, except he refused to talk about you. Rudy, knowing nothing of what had happened, asked after you at breakfast and I truly thought Arthur might cry, but he quickly made it clear you were not to be mentioned. I could not begin to understand what had taken place, and it remained a mystery until the other day. Charles produced that letter you hold in your hand, had me read it, and cried for what felt like an eternity. We immediately made a plan to fetch you.”

“And Arthur?” I asked, loath to hear the answer.

“He has no idea you’re coming,” Felix said.

“He thinks I’ve come to town to see my married sister.

Truthfully, we’ve no idea how he’ll react.

That night, I remember what you said to me.

That he would forget and recover, and that he would eventually move on.

He acts as though he has, but he has not been the same, Tom.

There is this look in his eyes that never goes away.

The same damned look you carry with you now. ”

To think that Arthur had suffered the same scars as I had was untenable, and yet I knew by looking at Felix that it was the truth. “What if I can’t undo the harm I did?” I asked, and Felix shook his head.

“There are no more secrets now,” he said. “Not from Charles, not from myself, not from you. If we all tell the truth, this can be fixed. I know it can.”

“I was only with him for a summer,” I said. “We have been apart for ten times as long. It is impossible to believe we could pick up where we left off.”

“There is no reason to believe that things won’t be different,” Felix said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t form something else. This has to be rectified or you and Arthur will be caught in this in-between for the rest of your lives. I know you don’t want James to have that power over you.”

“Of course I don’t,” I said, looking at Charles’s letter again, spirits raised by the sight of his familiar handwriting.

“Fine,” I said, and his entire face lit up.

“But I need the evening to prepare. Someone will need to look after the house, and I need to talk to Mr. Hughes and ensure that I can leave on such short notice.”

“Oh,” Felix said, turning pink. “You don’t need to speak to Mr. Hughes. He’s been telegraphed already by Charles and given his permission for you to go. It seems you’re quite a favorite of his.”

“Charles,” I said, unsure if I should be annoyed by my friend’s meddling or touched by the knowledge that he was as rash as he had ever been.

“In any case, the house will need looking after.” I removed my watch from my pocket, glanced at the time, and nodded.

“Very well. You and I will go to dinner, we’ll stop by a friend’s house and see if he’ll do me the favor of keeping an eye on things here, and we’ll depart in the morning.

” I looked at him, my gaze softening. “I hope you know I meant nothing I said the night I left. I was so upset by Charles’s words that I simply had to leave by any means necessary. ”

“I know,” Felix said, rising from the loveseat and offering me a hand. “I’ve never thought differently, Tom. Now come along. I simply must see if London food is still as unwholesome as I recall it being.”