The next morning, the Young Lord finally confessed his injury to his parents. His mother would have sent for a doctor regardless — Alex looked too pale and weary. After a brief examination and rewrapping of the bandage, the doctor reassured them: it was a mild sprain and nothing more, though rest was imperative. Lord Carlston couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
Once the doctor had left, a sealed envelope was delivered, resting silently on Alex's writing desk. The Young Lord couldn't look at it without a tightening in his chest — he knew exactly who had sent it. He left it unopened until the sky outside had turned dark.
Dear Alex,
First and foremost, allow me to apologise for my behaviour. My words yesterday were poorly chosen, and I deeply regret having spoken them. I write in the hope of learning how you are feeling. Please, let me know whether you are in need of any assistance. I would be grateful for any word from you, though I shall, of course, understand if you choose silence.
Sincerely,
Nathaniel Cunningham
Alex sighed and closed his eyes. He covered his face with the letter and drifted off to sleep. The next morning, he woke up with the letter still on his face. The Young Lord sat at the desk and wrote back immediately.
Dear Duke,
I finally confessed the injury to my parents. As I anticipated, they called for Doctor Burton. He agreed with your assessment — nothing grave, just a slight sprain. I should be back to full strength soon. I'm grateful for your thoughtfulness. How are you? And how is Altiva? Does she miss me yet?
Respectfully,
A.C.
From that day, their letters became a daily ritual. Each morning, Alex would find a new envelope on his desk, penned in the Duke's neat hand. Every one contained something about the weather, Altiva or woodcarving. And always with the same gentle worry: "How is your ankle today? Are you truly resting, as the doctor advised?"
Alex answered gladly and with warmth — as though nothing awkward had ever been said between them, and their friendship remained unchanged.
A week later, a new idea struck Young Lord — and he couldn't help but share it.
A thought came to me — though you may find it silly.
Ever since I was a boy, I've dreamed of a real masquerade. With wigs, cloaks, and masks so fine that no one could tell who stood before them. A true night of mystery! Since you mentioned a ball, I thought perhaps you might enjoy something of the sort. I won't be offended if you find the idea foolish and choose something else.
A.C.
The response came the next day as usual.
Dear Alex,
I applaud your imagination! I give you my word — in two weeks' time, there shall be a masquerade ball. I shall do my utmost to fulfill your wildest dreams for such an evening and ensure that every guest makes a sincere effort to remain entirely unrecognizable.
Begin preparing your costume.
N.C.
A week before the appointed ball, Alex was able to walk again, though still with a slight limp. For some reason, he stubbornly refused to carry a cane.
Lord Carlston insisted it was high time the Duke finally accepted his long-standing invitation and came to discuss horses.
— "Please, do come in. Sit with us," said Lord Carlston, greeting his guest warmly.
The Duke took his place at the table, where father and his son were already seated. Lady Carlston was away that day.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries about the weather and local matters before at last moving to the subject of horse racing. Alex remained silent for the most part, listening.
— "Speaking of which," Lord Carlston said suddenly, "I confess I don't quite know how to continue discussing racing secrets with you, dear Duke — something tells me it was no coincidence my son injured his leg on a ride with you."
Alex's eyes widened in alarm. He turned to the Duke, searching his face for a reaction. Nathaniel looked distinctly tense.
Lord Carlston's sternness didn't last long, and he broke into a laugh almost at once. The Duke managed a strained laugh of his own, following his host's lead.
— "Father, how could you say such a thing?" Alex exclaimed irritably.
— "It's quite all right, Young Lord," Nathaniel said with a faint smile. "Your father's suspicion is a fair one — given your skill as a rider, I suspect I'll have no hope of victory unless I resort to such underhanded means."
Alex blushed and the two older men laughed again, more heartily this time. The conversation turned to horse breeding, and the Duke shared some insights about the breeding practices of various countries.
At length, Lord Carlston excused himself on some business, leaving the two young men to themselves.
The weather was perfect for a walk. The Duke and Alex wandered through the garden before settling on a bench beneath a great oak. Alex shrugged off his coat, enjoying the breeze and the Duke untied the light silk scarf from around his neck and laid it beside him.
— "You don't have to speak with my father about horses if you find it tiresome," Alex said suddenly.
— "What do you mean, my lord?" the Duke replied. "On the contrary, it brings me great pleasure. It's a rare thing — to speak openly, one man to another, rather than cloaked in the titles we bear."
Alex gave a slight smile at that, but his expression quickly grew tense and he looked down at the ground in silence.
— "I owe you an apology." Alex said, out of nowhere.
The Duke turned toward him, confusion written across his face. Alex still wouldn't look up.
— "I want to apologise for what I said during our last meeting, in my room. I didn't mean to… scold you. It was rude and ill-mannered of me, and I hope you don't hold it against me."
He nervously toyed with his fingers and kept his eyes down.
— "My lord," the Duke said softly, "If I may, I will be honest with you again. First of all, I truly regret the prejudices I held when we first met. And even if those assumptions had been true — there is, and should be, nothing shameful in them. I will be glad to see you enjoying the upcoming ball and dances…"
Nathaniel paused.
— "And when you said those things to me… I felt a kind of fear. A fear of being seen. Truly seen. It frightened me, that someone could look past everything I said and call out my flaws so directly. And after knowing me for only a few months. You have nothing to apologize for."
The Duke looked at his friend who remained seated, his gaze still cast downward. Nathaniel continued.
— "I thought a great deal about what you said and what I said to you. In my youth, I too was weighed down by expectations and assumptions — from society, from family... And yes, it wounded me deeply. So I understand why my own assumptions about your life may have struck you deeply in some way. I am truly sorry and I ask for your forgiveness."
— "And now?" Alex asked quietly.
— "Now?" the Duke repeated, unsure of what Alex meant.
— "You said those expectations used to wound you. Do they still?"
The Duke raised an eyebrow, then gave a smile.
— "They wound me far less than they once did."
With visible uneasiness, Alex looked at Nathaniel's eyes and asked softly.
— "So they still hurt?"
The Duke didn't answer at once. Instead he reached out and placed his hand gently over Alex's, resting on his knee. Nathaniel's eyes held his friend's look.
— "There is nothing I cannot endure with the support of those I hold dear," he said. "And I am grateful — truly grateful — for your honesty and your friendship, Alex. I hope that one day, I might be such a support to you as well."
Alex's cheeks flushed as their eyes met. He looked away quickly and stood up in a rush, suggesting they walk a bit more, but the Duke said he should be heading home.
Alex saw the Duke off, then went for a walk in the garden to reflect on their conversation. As he passed the bench where they had sat, something on the ground caught his eye. It was the Duke's cravat. He picked it up, and — not wanting to carry it in his hand — tied it loosely around his wrist.
When he returned to his room after the walk, he carefully placed his finding on a shelf, so he wouldn't forget to return it to its owner one day.