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It turns out that, for all the fuss that was made about it, this dance is actually very boring.
This is only just barely a surprise; any event that requires chaperones is an event that Lindsay generally doesn't look forward to. But it is true. Lindsay has had maybe a bit too much to drink, by now — he's accustomed to Bacchanal rites; the feeling is hardly unfamiliar — and successfully slipped away from his chaperone, and yet it is still boring.
Ahahaha this is fine.
He smiles pleasantly and makes up some nonsense about how beautiful the moon was that evening, plays the silly thing who reads too much poetry, and.... can't explain the scarf. Fuck.
"Take off the scarf," his mother says, firmly.
...He takes off the scarf.
There is a truly impressive array of bruises across his neck and shoulders.
His mother doesn't look angry. She doesn't even look disappointed. She just looks sad.
She opens her mouth, starts to say something, closes it, shakes her head. "Go to your room. I'll speak to your father."
He nods. He goes to his room.
He tries to read and mostly fails. Writes a letter to Leo and puts it in an envelope and doesn't send it.
A letter comes from Leo anyway.
My dearest, Lindsay,
What in the name of the twelve immortals were you thinking? Half the ton is talking about you and Burton. I've heard the rumors and I'm not exactly what you'd call well-connected. If even a tenth of what people are saying is true, [scribbled out writing] I don't know what we're going to do.
A salary as a governess can perhaps be stretched to cover two, although most parents would prefer their children's governness room with someone respectable. Maybe we'll go to the Continent, where they won't have heard the gossip? We will figure out some means of support. Please don't worry, I will take care of you.
As always, I love you and I will be by your side through everything. Please remember to eat.
The Poetry Society sends their fondest wishes to you. I'm sure you can imagine what Stephen said when he found out.
Your darling,
Leo
He scraps the previous letter and starts over.
My dearest, Leo,
I wasn't thinking, that was the problem
Pray do not worry about me; my every meal is dedicated to you.
This is, strictly speaking, true; Leo already knows how much Lindsay is (or, more accurately, how much Lindsay isn't) likely to be eating now, but Lindsay avoids the topic anyway.
I miss you. I miss the rest of the Society — please thank Stephen for me; the image of his face when he heard was a gift even if I never saw it in truth — but you know, that the first claim on my heart has always been yours.
Your darling,
Lindsay
It will be a few hours before he can get Leo's response.
His parents are arguing with raised voices.
He is aware of how monumentally stupid every decision he made last night was, and doesn't need to listen in. Not listening, however, is — difficult.
The suggestion is floated that perhaps Lindsay should be turned out of the house immediately to preserve the marriage prospects of his siblings and to prevent him from being a bad influence.
Leo. Leo. He has Leo — he has the Society but mostly he has Leo.
He stops listening to his parents and practices pianoforte so he won't find himself focusing on them.
Then he won't hear the person making a call on their household until his mother comes up to fetch him.
"Captain Burton wishes to speak to you," she says, her mouth a tight line. "Alone."
…he has Leo. No matter what he always has Leo.
He nods and comes out to meet Captain Burton.
Ashley smiles at him when he enters the drawing room, the smile with too many teeth.
When Lindsay's mother leaves, Ashley says, "I hope you will do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage."
Lindsay is aware of the sheer number of ways in which he was an idiot last night. "I'm sorry," he says, "I should have told you." Should have stopped him before they ever kissed. Shouldn't have agreed to speak privately — shouldn't have left his chaperone at all —
— it's not important. He can't change it now, he can only live with it.
"You have to marry a person you met last night and with whom you have exchanged more moans than words, I don't think you should feel the need to apologize."
So do you, now, he doesn't say.
"Thank you, sir," he says instead.
"I know this is not what you would have chosen, but I hope I can make you happy. I have no family background, but I am a pious man, I have a good income, and I am often at sea. I will not make too many demands of you."
No matter what, he has Leo. And — if Ashley is at sea —
"Thank you, sir," he says again, more sincere this time.
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