By some miracle, the Young Lord had managed to conceal his sprained foot from his parents. The next morning after the events, Lord and Lady Carlston left early, and Alex, having entrusted his secret only to a maid, remained in his room, resting and reading.
A knock at the door.
— "Yes, come in, Matilda," he called, without looking up.
— "I beg your pardon, but it isn't Matilda," came a familiar voice — the Duke stepped inside with a faint smile. "May I come in?"
Alex froze. He hadn't expected to see the Duke again so soon — and after yesterday's embarrassment, he was hardly eager. On top of that, he felt he must have looked quite unpresentable: his hair loose and tousled from lying in bed, and his face, he suspected, paler than usual.
— "Y-yes, of course, do come in," Young Lord said quickly.
— "How are you feeling? I was worried," the Duke said softly, "so I thought I'd look in on you today. Forgive me the uninvited visit."
The Duke cast a glance about the room. It was modest and pleasant — the walls painted a gentle blue, the furniture made from a dark oak. Books crowded the shelves and the writing desk alike. Two small carvings caught the Duke's eye — his own gifts, now standing proudly beside Alex's inkstand.
— "I'm well, thank you. And there's no need to apologise. Forgive me, rather, for having caused you any concern," Alex replied, his voice faltering slightly as he noticed how Duke's gaze had settled on the table.
The Duke stepped closer.
— "May I take a look at your foot?"
Alex nodded, though in truth, the last thing he wished was to plunge once more into yesterday's embarrassment.
— "You haven't told anyone about the sprain?"
— "Well, just Matilda, our maid. I didn't want to trouble anyone. And my father would likely be angry if he'd known I injured myself just before the races. Though truly, I think it's nearly healed — another day or two and I'll be right again."
— "Just as I feared," the Duke said with a faint smile. "Ah, look here — the binding's not secure. Allow me to show you how to wrap it properly."
And so the Duke knelt once more to show him how to bandage the foot — and made him blush anew.
When Nathaniel finished, he stood up, smiled and turned his back to Alex, allowing his eyes to wander over the bookshelves.
— "I do hope I'll recover in time to dance at your ball."
Alex was worried not only for the upcoming race, but also for the social events that lay ahead — especially something as special as his friend's ball.
For some reason, the Duke did not answer at once.
— "With all due respect," he finally said, still facing the shelves, "I believe your foot is worth far more than the chance to impress young ladies at the ball."
Something inside Alex sank like a stone in the ocean. A familiar ache squeezed his throat — a simmering indignation he believed he had long put to rest in case of the Duke of Blackthorn.
— "Why does it trouble you so much?" he said, his voice tight. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden? Is that truly all you see when you look at me? A frivolous young man who lives to charm and be admired?"
The Duke turned partially toward Alex, his expression unreadable.
— "That is not what I think of you," he said evenly.
— "Then what do you think of me?" Alex demanded.
The Duke hesitated.
— "I'll be honest with you, Alex. At first — when I saw you alongside your mother — I did see a young boy accustomed to attention and fond of it. And I regret having judged you so quickly. Since then… things have changed. I've seen many sides of you, and…" he paused, "… and, perhaps, deep down, I envied you. The grace of your youth. The ease with which you wear your charm. The way hearts seem to follow you. And yes — your success in that role."
Nathaniel did not meet Alex's eyes. Instead, he stood half-turned, gazing out the window.
— "What do you mean by all this?" Alex asked, both confused and irritated, struggling to understand his friend's implication.
The Duke forced a tight smile and finally met the Young Lord's eyes.
— "Does the Young Lord wish to hear one more time that he is young, charming and exceptionally handsome?"
The brief flush of heat was quickly replaced by a wave of anger that swept over the Young Lord. He abruptly turned on the bed and sat with his back to the Duke, unable to bear even the sight of him now. It was all too much — the feelings were too complicated to face its source.
— "Apparently, the Duke's envy knows no bounds," Alex answered through clenched teeth.
The Duke chuckled softly.— "Perhaps so. I beg you to forgive this aging Duke for his few unfunny jokes from time to time."
— "That's nonsense. In fact, it's downright absurd! You've only dodged my original question with all these self-deprecating words," Alex answered, his nostrils flaring from anger.
The Duke remained silent for a moment.
— "With my tirade, I only meant to say this: you are magnificent in your role. A beautiful, worthy, and happy family life awaits you — with a wonderful wife. And you will be happy, I am sure of that. I did not mean to say anything unkind."
Nathaniel's words cut through Alex like a blade of sword. A tangled flood of anger, grievance, and haunting echoes from long ago seized him, leaving him gasping for breath, trembling with rage and teetering on the brink of tears.
— "I think you need some rest. Forgive me for troubling you; I'm truly sorry for making things worse," the Duke said, turning to leave the room.
— "Do you know what your problem is?!"
The Duke freezed, visibly surprised. He turned to face Alex and looked him in the eyes.
— "Please, do say it to me," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly, as if afraid of what he might hear.
Alex's tone was more serious than ever.
— "It's not about your envy. I'm certain that age distorts a person because it intoxicates them with experience. That experience becomes a reliance people lean on at every opportunity, as if their 'experience' grants them the right to wisdom — especially when it comes to judging others! But it's only an illusion of wisdom. The experience each person lives through is like a prism — a prism that will never reveal the true reasons and consequences behind another's actions. With your tirade, you only cast your own prejudices onto me, like sunlight filtering through stained glass, coloring a room in shifting hues. But the room itself remains unchanged! It's the same room! And your hasty conclusions reveal only yourself, not me. You've fallen into this trap. Don't ever make rash predictions about me, my life, or my wishes again."
The Young Lord said it all in one breath, as if he had rehearsed the speech the night before.
The Duke couldn't meet Alex's eyes after that and looked away for a moment. A faint blush crept across his cheeks. After a pause, he spoke even more quietly,
— "You are absolutely right. I regret what I said today. It would be an honor to discover the true, hidden depths of your soul aside from my prejudices, Young Lord — if I might one day earn your trust."
With a slight bow, the Duke left the room, not daring to cast a farewell glance back at his friend.
As soon as Alex heard the click of the lock, tears burst from his eyes, as though they'd been patiently waiting for this very moment for a long, long time.