Page 102 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“This is Paris,” Henry declared. Then, with a cheeky smile, “How am I doing?”
Léon took a sip of brandy, adoring eyes sparkling over at Henry. “I’m tempted to stay a little longer.”
Henry's hastily dispatched letters were soon answered, hand delivered by the servants of his small circle within hours of his sending them out. Catherine brought the first of them to his door with a soft knock, which made Léon sink deeper into the bath to avoid being seen. He needn’t have. Henry only opened the door the slightest crack to talk to her, then returned to his desk with his precious correspondence and his ruby ring sparkling on his finger.
“Thank you,” he said, holding up his hand to show it off. “I thought it might be lost. But I didn’t want to ask after you already went through so much for me.”
Léon watched Henry settle into his chair and take up his quill, “What’s the meaning of it?”
“Hmm?”
“I assume there is one. Given you haven’t parted from it. And if it’s from an old lover, I’ll be very sorry it came back intact.”
Henry laughed. “No, Ange. I can promise, you’re the only man in my heart.”
“Good,” said Léon, taking a sip of brandy.
Henry turned the sparkling jewel over with his thumb, considering it, then he let out a small sigh. “It’s quite silly, really. But my mother gave me this when I turned eighteen. I love it and I wore it religiously. And when things fell apart… Well, I still loved it. And her too. Even if she refused to see me. Or Catherine.”
He dipped the quill in the ink, then held it just above his letter, thinking for a moment before turning to Léon. “Do youremember what you said in the cottage about that sense of family? Having those people you love, who love you, who you can depend on?”
“Yes,” Léon replied softly, trying not to let himself think too hard about his own family.
“I can’t say I really had that, not the way you describe it. My father isn’t a warm man, nor a good one. And my mother…” His eyes narrowed a little as he studied the ring. “I suppose this ring represents family, as though I might ever get it back. But the fact is, I don’t want them back. It’s the idea of it, I think. What it represents.” He huffed out a light laugh, then pressed quill to paper, scrawling. “I told you it was silly.”
Léon watched him a few seconds, but his busy hand and intent form betrayed no upset. “Do you miss them?”
Still writing, “My mother, a little. Sometimes. My father, never. I didn’t like him much to begin with, but after that…” He dipped his quill and wiped off the excess ink. “Some things can never be forgiven.”
Henry’s mail continued to arrive, and he read every note greedily, while Léon leaned his head against the back of the bath and watched swirls of mist disappear into nothing from the heat of the latest delivery of scorching water.
He heard the occasional name uttered by Henry, felt the mounting excitement as each new piece of information was added, all of it culminating in one crackling statement that came some time mid-afternoon. “Ange, I’m taking you to a party.”
Henry was up and across the room, throwing a wardrobe wide open, even as Léon sat forward to stare after him. “What are you talking about? We’re boarded up in here. We’re not going to any parties.”
“It’s a secret party. Catherine and I are invited, which means you’re coming.” Without looking, he added, “Because you’re mypartner.” Henry held shirts up to the light, deciding on their presentability after four years hiding in a cupboard.
Léon blushed and murmured, “Do you really think of me that way?”
Henry stilled his movements. “Yes. I see a future with you. And you said you see it with me too.”
“But our situation…”
He threw a shirt down and turned away. “I don’t care about it.”
“We have only a week,” Léon reminded him.
Henry stepped to his side, kneeling down. “It’s not a week. Not once you settle in. Youwillwant to stay. And youwillbe my partner.” Léon pursed his lips to take the kiss Henry offered. “You already are my partner.”
Seeing little use in spoiling Henry’s happy mood by reminding him of reality, Léon said, “But you know we can’t just go out like that. Together.”
“Why not?” Henry, back at the bed assessing clothes, flashed him a fast grin. “It hasn’t been illegal for men to be in love in Paris since the revolution took a hold.”
“What?” Léon spilled some water over the side of the tub in surprise. “Officially? When did that happen?”
“Last year,” replied Henry, throwing a maroon shirt down on the bed. “Liberté, égalité, fraternité. We’re all equals now, in every sense of the word. Do you see what I’m saying? This isn’t just some daydream, wishful thinking on my part. Revolution is now. Change is now. This is the first country I know of where you and I can legally be together. Now, wasn’t that worth taking a few heads?”
Léon laughed as he turned Henry’s crystal glass in the firelight, the irony of their (current) elite positioning not lost on him.
