Winter's Bees (9 page)

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," Gilbert said, but he still wasn't looking Marcel, refusing to meet his eyes. "You've been quiet all day, and it's not like you to leave anything early."

"I'm all right, just tired." It hurt that Gilbert won't look at him—his shoulders were tense too, Marcel noticed. Gilbert was holding himself as if he were prepared to flee at any moment. It made Marcel's breath come short and his stomach knot. He took a hesitant step towards Gilbert just to see what would happen and froze when Gilbert backed up a little bit.

Was Gilbert really afraid of him? No, no, it wasn't possible.
Please, don't let him be afraid of me
, Marcel prayed, and took another hesitant step forward.

Gilbert gaze flicked over to Marcel only briefly and then he was hurrying back towards the door. "Well, I'll see you at the ball."

There was a click and he was gone. Marcel just stood there, staring at the place were Gilbert had been with a sinking feeling in his gut. He'd messed up, that much was obvious; somewhere, he'd messed up badly.

Marcel turned to where the suit for the ball was already laid out for him on the bed. He needed to focus on getting through tonight. After that Gilbert would go to their new estate and he could stay in the city. Maybe with time and space he'd be able to figure out how to fix whatever was broken between the two of them, figure out how he'd so badly miss stepped when it came to Gilbert.

Maybe with time he'd figure out how to make things right again.

*~*~*

Gilbert woke up that morning the sound of rain hitting the windows. In its own way it was a comforting noise; it meant it was no longer cold enough for snow and spring was on the way.

He sighed and stretched before climbing out of bed.

He'd been here at the estate house he now shared with Marcel, a few hours' carriage ride from Challant, for a few months now. He'd started overseeing the removal of most of his insect collection, both alive and taxidermied, to their new estate before the wedding. Since then, though, he'd hired their new staff, seen to setting up the gardens for his own research and the renovation of one whole wing for Marcel's own uses.

Marcel had stayed in the city, seeing to their financial matters, being their public face at parties and balls, and working with Gregory and the others on the new college.

They hadn't spoken since the wedding. Gilbert frowned at his reflection as he straightened his jacket in the mirror. He'd thought Marcel would have joined him here at the estate by now, or at least come for a visit. Maybe Marcel was avoiding him. The heaviness of guilt settled on Gilbert, but he couldn't dwell on those kinds of emotions. Marcel could very well be detained by business.

Maybe it was for the best that he had been able to spend this time by himself and way from Marcel, It was an opportunity to clear his head. He did not feel clearer, though, Gilbert thought ruefully, heading down the grand staircase.

He'd asked for breakfast to be sent to his study whenever he dined alone, so he bypassed the formal dining room and headed straight for his book-lined refuge instead. A small table had been set up with bread, butter, and coffee. Gilbert poured himself a cup and took it over to his desk. Spread out across the desk, there was the beginnings of plans for the garden and where he thought the hives would be best placed. Gilbert shifted some of the papers to make room for his cup before sitting.

A sheet with jotted notes caught his eye. He'd never been good at any kind of magic or spell craft, but he'd had this idea for ways of using spell craft to track insects for years. Over the last few days he'd found some spells that, if modified, could be used to map the movements of honey bees. At least he thought it could work. Frowning down at the drawings, Gilbert reached for his coffee cup and took a sip. He probably should have spent more time listening when his tutors had covered magic; he'd always been more interested in studying and sketching insects and plants than listening to his tutors, though.

Marcel had always been amazing at magic. If he were here, Gilbert could ask him about his notes. Having a second pair of eyes on the project would be useful at this stage. If it had been a year ago, he would not have hesitated taking the notes to Marcel to have him look over the research. Gilbert let his head come to rest in his hands. He was still having the dreams, still waking with his body trembling and his cock throbbing from images of Marcel's body and touches.

He thought about the day of their wedding when he'd walked in on Marcel changing; the slender lines of his chest, the smooth expanse of skin. Marcel was nothing like any of the men Gilbert had been attracted to before, not broad-shouldered and muscular, but it still took his breath away just thinking about how beautiful Marcel was. He'd found himself getting lost in daydreams of how Marcel's lips would taste, what his body would feel like pressed against Gilbert's own.

Setting his cup of coffee aside, Gilbert paced across the room. The guilt was still there when he thought about Marcel. Gilbert had never felt worthy of Marcel's affections, and he was even less so now that he was having these lustful thought about Marcel. Marcel's love for him still felt so much larger and more pure than Gilbert's own feelings.

There was also a little bit of fear now. What if he approached Marcel about moving this marriage from in name only to being something real and Marcel decided he did not actually want Gilbert as much has he thought he did? Sometimes wanting something unattainable was more exciting than actually having it. Not that Gilbert thought Marcel was that shallow, but still … The idea of being rejected by Marcel … Even thinking about the possibility of Marcel telling him­—gently, because Marcel would be gentle­—that he was no longer interested was almost too painful for Gilbert to think about. Being rejected so unkindly by Tristan had been crushing to be rejected by Marcel was unthinkable, and yet Gilbert could not stop thinking about it.

A walk would do him good and clear his head.

It was still early enough in the morning for the sunlight to be weak, mist still clinging to the ground. Gilbert pulled on a coat and collected his hat and walking stick, making sure he had one of his notebooks and a pencil tucked into his coat pocket before stepping out onto the drive. He headed out across the grounds towards the woods that surrounded the estate and its gardens.    

The gardeners made sure the land around the estate house was nicely kept up, but Gilbert had insisted that the rest of the lands attached to the house be left to grow wild. Right now the land lay grey and barren, but come summer Gilbert knew there would be rolling fields of long grass and wild flowers giving way to forests. There was no path, so Gilbert cut across the muddy grown towards the woods.

Right where the field gave way into trees, Gilbert stopped to examine a particularly interesting patch of fungus growing on one of the trunks. He'd never seen any of that shape or color before, so he took out his notebook and did a quick sketch so he could look it up later. After tucking his notebook away again, Gilbert began picking his way between the trees. There was still a little ice on the ground here, where the branches provided shade from the sun.

This early in the year, there were not as many interesting plants or insects to find unless Gilbert really went looking for them, specifically rolling over logs and rocks.

If Marcel had been there, he might have lingered, poking around the rocks, looking for any kind of beetle he'd never seen before. Marcel would laugh at him and hold Gilbert's notepad and walking stick while Gilbert crawled around on the ground. He would listen like he always did when Gilbert inevitably lectured him about beetles or whatever else Gilbert was looking for that day. Marcel would ask questions like he was actually interested in what Gilbert had to say, like he cared about the plants, fungus, and bugs Gilbert loved so much. He would listen not because Marcel found them interesting per say but because Gilbert did.  

Gilbert stared down at the still partly frozen ground in front of him. He missed Marcel, missed him badly. He wanted the easy closeness; Marcel had been his intellectual companion and best friend, and he wanted that back. But now he also wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss Marcel, to have him in his bed and in his life as his lover as well as his best friend and husband.

Mostly he just wanted Marcel to smile at him again.

It was time to stop avoiding his feelings and Marcel's, stop letting his fear and guilt rule his life. Gilbert's fingers closed tight around head of his cane as fear rose up inside him over the very idea of admitting to Marcel that after rejecting him once Gilbert had changed his mind.

Do not be afraid
, he told himself,
you've avoided this for too long as it is. Better for both of us to get things out into the open
. Gilbert turned back towards the estate house again and to pick him sway back through the forest.

Once back at the house, he would write to Marcel asking that Marcel join him at his next convenience and then … then they would see.

*~*~*

Marcel watched the countryside pass by outside the carriage window and stifled a sigh. He'd wanted to join Gilbert at the estate but had remained true to his promise to himself and stayed in Challant until Gilbert himself at sent word. It had been a long few months but the letter he'd gotten from Gilbert finally had been cordial enough. At least now he would know that no matter what else happened Gilbert had wanted him to be there enough to send word asking him to come.

Leaning his head against the cool glass of the carriage window, Marcel shut his eyes. He should have stopped it. He should have told Henri-André no when Henri-André had asked him to marry Gilbert. For both of their sakes, he should have stayed away from this marriage. But he hadn't. Instead he'd let himself think that maybe, in time … He shook his head.

And now here he was. Not only was his husband barely speaking to him, but more importantly one of his best friends was doing everything in his power to avoid him. He'd handled this badly on so many levels, not only by agreeing to marry Gilbert when he knew Gilbert did not share his feelings, but by kissing him at the Christmas ball. He'd behaved badly, and he didn't know how he was going to fix it.

He bit his lip, shifting on the seat so he was putting less weight on his bad leg. Maybe he should find Gilbert someone. Maybe if Gilbert had a lover, someone he really cared about, their marriage would become less strained.

The idea of purposefully trying to find someone for Gilbert to fall in love with turned his stomach, but he was running out of options. In his dreams, when he'd kissed Gilbert under the mistletoe at the Christmas ball, Gilbert had melted into his arms and admitted to always having loved Marcel back. Reality was very different, however, and at this point Marcel would settle for them just being friends again.

Outside the carriage window, forest rolled by half-obscured by fog. Marcel reached up to massage between his eyes. He was so tired. He hadn't been sleeping well, had been suffering from more headaches and pain in his leg and shoulder that he hadn't had in years. He needed to figure out this thing between them before it killed him.

The forests finally parted to reveal a large lake, ice encrusted and surrounded by snow, the fog rolling over it. Beyond the lake loomed their estate house, a huge stone thing Gilbert had inherited along with his title. Marcel stared at it as the road curved around the edge of the lake towards the great house. He wished it were a happier homecoming.

The carriage pulled through the iron gates and up the gravel drive, stopping before the house. Two footmen stepped forward, one going to attend to Marcel's luggage and the other opening the door for him and helping him out.

"Where is his highness?" Marcel asked as the footman helped him up the marble steps to the huge front doors. He usually did not allow servants to help him like this, but the trip had been a long one and he was tired and ached all over.

"Waiting for you, my lord." The servant bowed a little and pulled the front door open, letting go of Marcel's arm as he stepped through into the great hall. Straight ahead of him was the grand staircase, leading up and then branching into two smaller staircases at the landing.

"Marcel."

He looked up as Gilbert came down the grand staircase, dressed in a plain and rather rumpled suit, hair looking a little mussed. "How was your trip?" Gilbert asked once he was standing in front of Marcel. The smile Gilbert gave him was a little tight, a bit nervous.

"Long," Marcel said. "Tiring."

"I'll show you your rooms then and let you get settled before dinner." Gilbert turned back to the staircase, and Marcel followed, limping more heavily than usual.

Gilbert stopped and then retraced his steps to join Marcel. He held out his arm in a question. Marcel nodded after a moment, and Gilbert's arm slid around his waist as they started up the stairs together.

"There were no suites downstairs when I had the house redone," Gilbert said, voice very low and without judgment. "I can have some of the downstairs rooms renovated, though."

"It shouldn't be necessary." Marcel shook his head, still leaning heavily on Gilbert. "I'm just tired."

They made it up the stairs and then to the right, and Gilbert stopped them in front of the first set of doors. He pulled them open and ushered into a beautiful, if old-fashioned, bedroom, its windows looking out onto the glittering ice-covered gardens and with wood beams across the rafters. There was a huge canopied bed in the center of the room.

"Your sitting room is through there," Gilbert pointed to one door. "And a study is through there." He pointed across the room to another. "Although you can have your choice of most any room in the house for a study if you don't like that. I've already ordered a bath to be brought up for you, and your luggage, so you can change before dinner." He hovered in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him, watching Marcel with a small frown. "Will you need help, do you think?"