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Azriel told Galen he was helping Madam Langley work on an elixir to counteract at least one of the symptoms if the worst should come to pass, but she had little faith in its success without the ingredient they needed most and hadn’t been able to find—a rare plant called Dragon’s Blood, that began to sprout in late spring or early summer. They’d used the last of it recently, in the elixir that had helped Agnes heal from her cough, but they hadn’t come across the plant since.
“What does it look like?” Galen asked him.
“It’s a dull green color that blends in with the fields, until the edges tip red as it blooms.”
Galen racked his brain, trying to remember if they’d seen any such plant on their errand to the wildflower fields.
“We didn’t come across any,” Azriel said, pressing their shoulders together. “I would’ve remembered.”
“How did you sense what I was thinking?”
Azriel shrugged. “I simply did.”
Galen smiled. It was that feeling again—of some sort of kismet between them.
What else could explain why Galen felt as if his skin was too tight, too tingly, every time they were in the same room? And he didn’t think he was alone in that, even on the days he doubted himself most. They sought each other out, sat closer, whispered into the night…and for now it would have to be enough. Because this thing between them felt like it was a different matter altogether. A matter of the heart.
Of course, he was afraid they were heading down the path of Cecil and Joseph, and perhaps he was ridiculous to think that his and Azriel’s story would be different. But so far it seemed to be. Galen did not spend time thinking about what Azriel did with the customers—they knew what this was, and that it was part of their work. It was not unpleasant, not always, and it only made the brief moments with Azriel better.
As they all bathed in preparation for their evening, Bellamy was noticeably distracted, his gaze returning to the window more than once, as if drawn to the night sky and lost in some memory.
“Are you all right?” Galen asked from near the hearth, where he’d gone to warm his hands.
Bellamy glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure they would not be overheard. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem restless.” In fact, his aura bloomed a fiery red, with an undercurrent of vivid blue. “But also…forlorn.”
Bellamy shrugged. “Aren’t we all, in one way or another?”
Before Galen could ask more, Oscar came barreling into the room, complaining to anyone who would listen that the apothecary had run out of his cherished rosewood oil—one that Mr. Walters favored. Bellamy rolled his eyes and strolled off to help in the kitchens. But Galen could not get their conversation out of his thoughts, at least until it came time for his own bath, and then he tried to focus on preparing properly for the evening.
When the men arrived, he was relieved to see Mr. Blackburn, though he appeared more subdued this evening, glummer, his blue aura nearly black. Galen did not want to seem too curious or eager for his attention, so he averted his eyes. Besides, he should never take Mr. Blackburn’s visits for granted. He was free to change his mind and have other preferences. There were plenty of enticing lads for him to choose from, after all.
Still, when Mr. Blackburn stepped forward to take his flower and Azriel’s in turn, Galen was flooded with emotion.
As they followed the gentleman down the hallway, it occurred to him that this was the only room in the entire establishment where he would be able to touch Azriel without repercussions, and that made him tremble with relief, as if he’d been holding himself at bay for weeks and could finally—and blissfully—surrender.
Mr. Blackburn must’ve read something in his expression because as soon as his coat was hung, he said, “How long has it been…since you’ve been able to connect with each other?” The question made Galen’s pulse thrash in his veins.
“Sir?” Azriel seemed perplexed, or maybe nervous to reply honestly. “We are…friends and also live together.”
A safe response, but Galen felt tense, especially given his prior conversation with Mr. Blackburn, in Azriel’s absence. Perhaps he’d given himself away too easily.
“But you are never intimate…because Madam Langley does not encourage it?”
It was probably common knowledge among the gentlemen, but it surprised Galen that Mr. Blackburn was privy to such information, since he tended to keep to himself.
Azriel blushed. “She certainly does not.”
“Do you steal moments together whenever possible?”
Azriel tossed Galen a furtive glance, his cheeks enflamed. “Perhaps.”
Galen breathed out in relief at his admission.
“That’s how I always felt with my Arthur,” Mr. Blackburn confessed, a faraway expression in his eyes, but some of the heavy blue surrounding him lifted. Azriel and Galen shared a sympathetic look. “It was difficult at first—it is for all of us—to manage a way to be together in society. We pretended much more in town, even under the guise of employer and employee, than we did in the country. There, we were freer to be ourselves. We felt safer.”
