Epilogue
Christmas Eve, eight years later
Daniel lifted the bedcovers, careful not to disturb Ambrose, who was sleeping soundly, his breaths punctuated by soft little snores. Of course if asked, Ambrose would deny strenuously that he snored, but there it was, the incontrovertible proof. Not that anyone else was here to report on it.
Daniel smiled to himself as he got out of the bed and dressed quietly. This was now a familiar routine, established many years ago after he and Ambrose hammered out their agreement. Several times a week, he arrived at Ivy Cottage after dark and slipped inside with his own key. There, he spent his evenings with his love, talking, bickering, occasionally playing backgammon, concluding with both going to the bedroom to strip off their clothes and bring pleasure to one another.
They had become more adventurous in the bedroom, learning the ways to please each other. Sometimes, it was Daniel that did the claiming, driving himself into Ambrose’s quivering body. And though the feeling of having his cock tightly sheathed in Ambrose’s hot passage was exquisite, he found himself missing that feeling of being taken, of being possessed. So, more often than not, it was Ambrose that penetrated him. There was something indescribable in seeing the transformation of Ambrose from the meek, gentle man he was in public to the possessive and commanding presence he was when they were alone.
Then, when they were sated, they held each other for a long, peaceful time until Ambrose drifted off to sleep. Much as he wished he too could sleep in that warm bed with his love, Daniel knew he could not. So, in the darkness of night, he dressed and readied to go. Just before leaving, Daniel pulled a small wrapped box from the pocket of his jacket and deposited it on the pillow beside Ambrose. “Happy Christmas, darling,” he whispered, brushing a final kiss on his forehead, then silently left the room and made his way out of the house.
He walked along the deserted avenue to Stanton Hall, habituated to this lonely traverse back to his home. He was thirty-seven years old and still vigorous enough to do it. What he would do when he reached an age of decrepitude, he did not know. Perhaps by then, he would have convinced Ambrose to spend more months of the year abroad with him—that lovely farmhouse on the outskirts of Amsterdam maybe, or the villa in Bordeaux. Or else, they could go further afield and explore the delights of Constantinople.
He reached Stanton Hall and let himself in through the side entrance, using the key he kept in his pocket for this very purpose. The few servants he kept were of course aware that he went out for long hours in the evening and returned late at night. They were too well trained to ask questions and too well paid to gossip. He made sure of that.
Once inside, he removed his coat and hat, hanging them on a hook by the door. Quickly, he went up the stairs, eager to reach the comfort of his bedchamber. Only as he crept along the darkened corridor, he saw a light streaming from below the library door. Curious. Changing course, he directed his steps towards the library, opening the door softly and peeking his head round.
Benjamin sat in an old armchair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. He raised his brow on catching sight of his brother. “So, you are back from Ivy Cottage,” he remarked.
Daniel strolled into the room, closing the door behind him. He went to the sideboard and took out a glass for himself, pouring a small shot of whiskey. Drink in hand, he came to sit opposite Benjamin. “You are up late,” was all he said, taking a warming sip of the liquor.
“I went down to place the presents under the tree,” explained Benjamin. “On the way back up, I felt an impulse to come sit here, in this very armchair where I first met Sarah.” He smiled ruefully. “It is Christmas Eve, and I am feeling nostalgic.”
Daniel laughed softly. “Yes, I have been feeling nostalgic too. Probably to do with the fact that we are all here together this Christmas. I wonder if or when we shall ever be able to do that again.”
Benjamin set down his glass on a side table. “Ma and Pa are not getting any younger,” he agreed. “I am just glad they managed to come with us this time.” He stood and stretched. “I had better get back to bed before Sarah sends a search party,” he yawned. He took a few steps towards the door but was stopped by Daniel’s next words.
“Are you happy, Ben?”
Benjamin turned to face his brother with a crooked smile. “Now what kind of question is that to ask in the middle of the night?” he enquired.
Daniel shrugged. “A spur of the moment thought. So, are you happy?”
Benjamin retraced his steps towards his brother and took a seat once more. “Yes, I cannot complain about my lot. There have been difficult times, but overall, life has been good. How about you? This thing between you and Ambrose. It cannot always have been easy. Has it been worth it?”
“Yes,” replied Daniel unequivocally. “I would wish sometimes that the world were different, more accommodating of our kind of love, but I have no regrets. Ambrose is… he is everything to me.”
Benjamin nodded. “I see it. And I am sorry that this world is not kind.” They were quiet for a moment, then Benjamin got to his feet once more. “I think it is past time our aging bodies were put to bed,” he declared. “Goodnight, brother.”
Daniel finished his drink and set it down. “Goodnight, Ben,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “Do not expect me to wake before ten,” he added with a yawn.
Both brothers made their way to their rooms, Daniel to an empty bed, and Benjamin to his wife, Sarah. She stirred as he joined her under the covers. “You were gone a long time,” she mumbled sleepily.
“I had a little chat with Daniel in the library,” Benjamin explained, kissing her cheek. “Let us catch some slumber,” he added. “It won’t be long before the little horrors come storming in here.”
She nestled into his body. “G’night,” she slurred, already half asleep. Benjamin was not far behind in finding blessed slumber.
Over in the next room, the occupants were not asleep. Frank was a light sleeper these days, and the sound of his sons’ footsteps in the corridor outside his room had wakened him. As he stirred, so did Charlotte. “It is late for them to be still out and about,” she grumbled to her husband. He grunted in reply and gathered her to him. All was quiet, though neither of them had gone back to sleep.
“Do you ever miss this place?” wondered Charlotte.
“No, my love,” replied Frank, tenderly brushing hair off her forehead. “Home is in Ohio. This grand palace has never felt like home to me, even when I lived here as a young man.”
“Is it a home for Daniel then?” she asked worriedly. “I sometimes think it must be lonely for him living here all alone—even with Ambrose close by at Ivy Cottage.”
“Hmm,” replied Frank noncommittally. “It is not what I would choose for myself, nor for him, but he seems content.”
“It is the way of the world, is it not?” mused Charlotte. “Your life is not at all what your father had planned for you. And who could have imagined the paths each of our three children decided to take in life?”
“It is their lives to lead, not ours,” replied Frank philosophically. “I once told Daniel that what matters most to me is that my children are safe and sound. Everything else is a minor consideration.”
Charlotte dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “I have not always liked this life that Daniel has chosen to lead, but you are quite right. In the end, what matters most is that he is safe. I do not ever again want to go through the agony of worry we suffered over Benjamin during the war.”
“That boy has taken years off my life,” concurred Frank. He reached to the bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a small wrapped packet. “Seeing as you are awake, my love, here is your Christmas gift.”
She took it from him and tore off the paper. Inside was a leather bound volume of the complete works of Plato. “I saw this at Hatchards when we were in London last week, and thought you would like it,” rumbled Frank, watching his wife closely for her reaction.
“How lovely! And so beautifully bound. Thank you, dear,” exclaimed Charlotte throwing her arms around Frank.
He drew her to him, capturing her lips for a kiss. It was meant as a gentle gesture of affection, but soon, as was often the case with them, it deepened into something more. She moaned softly as his tongue slipped into her mouth. “Frank,” she breathed.
“Seeing as we have been rudely awakened,” he grunted, “there is one way to help ease us back to slumber.” His hand reached down to the juncture of her thighs and unerringly found the small nub that brought her so much pleasure. He stroked her there all the while his mouth continued its plunder of hers.
“Oh,” she breathed, “I believe that is an excellent idea.”
In answer, her husband positioned himself above her and drove his erect cock into her welcoming heat. It had been nearly four decades since that first time he had made love to his glorious Charlotte in a secret tryst in a rented house on Charles Street. And in that time, he had never tired of this, nor of her. Their bodies had got older, aches and pains had beset them with age, but still they found pleasure in each other’s arms. When they were done, he held his Charlotte close and whispered goodnight.
“Mmm,” was her sleepy response.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmured. And then he too slipped into satisfied slumber.
Next day at luncheon, a large group of people gathered to break bread together. Daniel looked around him in satisfaction. Here he was with all his loved ones, celebrating Christmas in the year of our Lord, 1873. Life was good. He should not complain.
Under cover of the table, he reached for Ambrose’s hand and squeezed it gently, sending a message of affection to the love of his life. Ambrose was in the process of teasing his lovely daughter, Emily, about her dislike of Brussel sprouts, but on feeling the touch of Daniel’s hand, he glanced sideways at him and gave him that divine, ambrosial smile that had captured his heart all those years ago. Lord but he was beautiful. Smoky grey eyes met burning black ones. A current of understanding passed between them. “Just you wait until I have you to myself,” said the grey eyes. “I cannot wait,” replied the black eyes.