Chapter 4. Out of the Woods

The next day greeted them with perfect hunting weather. The sun shone brightly, drying out the muddy grounds and promising a comfortable overnight camp.

The guests began arriving around half past five. Despite his illness, Grandfather Henry decided to participate in the hunt, and no amount of persuasion from Lilibeth could convince him otherwise. He reassured her that he felt well and wanted to spend time with his grandsons and friends. After all, he added, he didn't have much time left.

Benedict felt well-rested and refreshed, having woken up much later than usual. The previous night had extended well past midnight, and it was only after the last guests had departed in their carriages that his valet, John, assisted him in preparing for bed. Benedict fell asleep quickly, the evening"s events weaving into his dreams, where he continued to dance and talk with Vivienne, Emily Ashcroft, Lord Exington, Lady Hawthorne, and other guests.

Awakening at half-past eleven, he found himself without a headache and feeling uncommonly well-rested and content, considering the generous amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before.

Percy, on the other hand, seemed to be in a less cheerful state.

"Hangover?" Benedict quipped, observing his brother"s irritated face, which today was even paler than usual.

"Shut up," Percy muttered, swatting the comment away as if it were a bothersome fly. He was dressed in his hunting gear, an ensemble that Benedict had always found ridiculous, but today especially so. It included a green checkered beret, matching shirt and trousers, and knee-high boots the color of damp earth.

Lord Exington was among the first to arrive. He greeted Benedict with a handshake and immediately began praising the last night"s ball—oh, how great was the music and how attractive were the ladies (and the gents, too, he added). He then proceeded to talk about his desire to host a similar event and promptly relayed his ideas to Benedict. However, Benedict"s attention was elsewhere. Today, he found Lord Exington"s pompousness and boundless energy even more tiresome than usual. Fortunately, William Thornby soon arrived, engaging in conversation with Exington and leaving Benedict to his thoughts. In the back of his mind, Benedict heard their conversation steering back to the previous night's ball—the food, the drinks, the dances, and, once again, the women.

Benedict"s eyes drifted to the carriages steadily arriving at the mansion. To his surprise, Benedict spotted Emily Ashcroft, whom he hadn't anticipated seeing at the hunt, accompanied by Lady Hawthorne. Emily stepped out of the carriage in her hunting wear and caught Benedict's gaze. She smiled at him as though taken aback by his attention. Benedict acknowledged her with a nod. He didn't miss the slight smile that played on Lady Hawthorne's lips as she observed their interaction.

"So is it true, Blackmoor?" Lord Exington's question pulled Benedict back to the conversation.

"True what?" Benedict turned back to Exington and Thornby.

"That you're planning to marry Miss LaFleur."

"And who's spreading that rumor?" Benedict asked.

"Katherine Staunton," Lord Exington said.

"And your mother," added Thornby.

"I highly doubt that," Benedict said.

"So she's available then?" Exington asked.

"Who? My mother?"

"No, Miss LaFleur."

"Good day, gentlemen." Vivienne approached them right at that moment. Benedict hadn't noticed her carriage arrive. She was impeccably dressed and looked elegant in a burgundy jacket, a matching long skirt, and a white shirt, her blonde hair neatly tied in a bun under her hat.

"Good day," Benedict said and kissed her outstretched hand.

Lord Exington and William Thornby followed suit.

"How do you do?" Thornby said, touching his hat.

"Do you remember Miss Charlotte Chapeau?" Vivienne gestured towards her chaperone standing a few feet behind her with an unamused expression.

"Of course," Benedict said. "How do you do, Miss Chapeau?"

"How doo you doo," she said with a thick accent and clumsily curtsied. She then continued to eye Benedict with undisguised dissatisfaction. Her hunting attire, Benedict noticed, looked like a man's suit, hastily tailored to fit a woman.

"You look magnificent, Miss LaFleur," Lord Exington said, eyeing Vivienne up and down with his piercing black eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Exington, you're very kind," Vivienne replied, her smile touching just the corners of her lips.

"This color suits you very much," William Thornby added awkwardly as if trying not to stay behind. "It complements your…uh…lips…lipstick."

Benedict barely held back an eye roll.

"Thank you," Vivienne responded. For a brief moment, her eyes met Benedict's, and he could tell she was fighting back a laugh.

"I was wondering if I could steal you for a moment, Mr. Blackmoor," Vivienne said, lightly touching Benedict's elbow.

Benedict was aware that a well-mannered woman would never allow herself such a gesture. For a woman to touch a man in such a casual manner would be taboo, and this breach of etiquette did not go unnoticed by Exington or Thornby. Fortunately, Vivienne's slight deviation from the norm could always be blamed on her French upbringing.

"Of course," Benedict said and followed Vivienne along the front yard of the Blackmoor Manor.

"I see that your matchmaker is here," Vivienne said, nodding at Lady Hawthorne.

The matchmaker and her protégée approached Exington and Thornby just a few seconds after Benedict and Vivienne had excused themselves from the group. Benedict found himself wondering if their arrival was the reason Vivienne had chosen to draw him aside.

"She doesn't lose hope of matching you with her girl, does she?" Vivienne said.

"I"m afraid she"s not one to easily accept defeat," Benedict responded. "Perhaps she"s plotting to ambush you in the woods while she has the opportunity," he suggested, eliciting a chuckle from Vivienne. "So please be careful."

"I wonder what her plan is," Vivienne mused. "Lure me into the swamps? Or perhaps mistake me for a duck and shoot me?"

"I imagine she"d prefer something more dramatic, like pushing you into a snake pit in the depths of the forest," Benedict suggested.

"How did you know I'm afraid of snakes?" Vivienne asked, surprised.

"I didn't. Well, let"s just hope she"s actually here for the boars then."

As they wandered towards the gardens, Benedict glanced back to check if the servants had brought out the horses and dogs but instead noticed Charlotte glaring at him from a distance.

"What's with her?" Benedict asked Vivienne.

"Who?"

"Your friend over there."

"Oh, Charlotte? Don't mind her. She didn't sleep well."

"All right," Benedict said. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

She stopped, and when Benedict stopped, too, she reached up to adjust his collar, her fingers accidentally brushing his neck. "You should consider letting go your valet. He"s neglecting his duties," she said with a wry smile.

"I"ll think about it," Benedict said, his breath a little hitched. "Don't take this the wrong way, but perhaps you should ease up on the touching."

Vivienne lifted an eyebrow, instantly lowering her hands.

"Oh, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

"It"s not that. It"s just women in high society don"t usually touch men so freely. Unless it's for money."

"But it is for money," Vivienne said with a laugh.

Benedict said nothing else and gave her an exaggerated eye roll in response.

***

When they returned to the driveway in front of the mansion, they found Grandfather Henry chatting with Maria and one of the stable boys. Seeing Benedict and Vivienne, Grandfather Henry cheerfully waved at them.

"It's time to choose the horses!" he announced. He looked surprisingly fresh and well-rested, betraying no signs of his serious illness.

"Wait—horses?" Vivienne frowned.

"Yes. We're going hunting, remember?" Benedict said.

"Yes, but—"

"Did you think we were going into the woods on foot?"

"Not on foot. In a carriage."

Benedict looked at her suspiciously. "Are you serious? Wait, have you ever ridden a horse before?"

"Of course, I have. But it was a long time ago, and I'm not very good at it," Vivienne said, her tone slightly defensive.

As the stable boys led the horses out, each guest selected their mount for the hunt. Vivienne circled the horses, her apprehension almost palpable. The animals seemed to sense her unease, shifting restlessly and shaking their heads.

"I'm not sure I should go," Vivienne said quietly to Benedict, her concern growing. A huge gelding nearly stomped her foot a moment ago.

"It will be fine," Benedict reassured her, "you can ride with me."

Before Vivienne had a chance to reply, Charlotte"s exaggerated faux-French accent cut in, "Zat's not appropriette."

They turned around to see Charlotte standing behind them.

"You will ride with me," she said in a tone that brooked no contradiction, suddenly dropping her accent, and then stomped towards a black horse.

***

Half an hour later, the entire party set off for the hunting estate. Leading the group were Grandfather Henry and his old friend, Lord Winchester, a burly man with a thick, curling mustache and a round face. Following them were Benedict, Percy, and Lord Winchester's two twin sons, Erik and Thomas, with the rest of the party closely behind.

The hunt master, the beaters, and the dog handlers, accompanied by hounds and terriers, rode a few hundred feet ahead of the main party, leading the way. Trailing behind the guests were the gamekeeper, gun-bearers, footmen, valets, and maids.

Benedict glanced around and saw Vivienne holding onto her chaperone with a firm grip as their horse moved restlessly. For the first time, Vivienne's expression wasn"t composed or sarcastic but filled with fear.

"Are you okay?" Benedict asked her, trying to keep his tone neutral and not too amused.

Vivienne gave him a brief look.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You don't seem like it," Benedict observed.

Vivienne stayed silent.

Suddenly, he realized something.

"Wait, where are your things?" he asked.

"What things?" Vivienne said, her frown deepening.

"Your bags. With spare clothes and…whatever else you ladies might need for an overnight trip."

Vivienne looked at him blankly.

"Overnight? I think you forgot to mention that part."

"I told you we were going boar hunting. Boar hunting typically takes at least a day and a half. We hunt at dusk and then at dawn. Everyone knows that."

Vivienne rolled her eyes. "In the high society, perhaps."

"I"m sorry," said Benedict. We can send a maid to Blackmoor to get you a change of clothes."

At that moment, Charlotte, who had clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation, pointedly cleared her throat. "We have a show tonight," she reminded Vivienne, her voice dripping with disapproval. It"s not to be missed."

"We"ll be back in time for it," Vivienne reassured her.

"I doubt that," said Charlotte.

Before Benedict could respond, Emily Ashcroft and Lord Exington caught up with them on their grey and gelded horses, leading to a swift change in the conversation.

Soon after, the party reached the hunting grounds. The camp was set up in a meadow outside of the woods chosen for the hunt. With tents pitched, horses secured, and all belongings properly stowed, everyone gathered around the hunt master to go over the strategies for the hunt.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the hunt master began, "Today we go boar hunting. For some of you, it"s going to be the first time, so listen closely. We will form a line as we enter the forest and spread out to cover more ground. Remember, this is boars' home, not ours, and they know it very well, so we need to keep our line to stop them from escaping…"

"Does that mean we'll have to wrestle the boars?" Vivienne whispered so only Benedict could hear.

He glanced back at her over the shoulder, trying to figure out if she was serious or not. Her furrowed brow suggested that she was.

"Just avoid stepping on them or kicking them in the butt," Benedict advised in a lowered voice. "If you encounter one, just—"

"I won't shoot it," Vivienne cut him off.

"Just call for someone," Benedict finished.

Vivienne rolled her eyes in response.

As if overhearing their exchange, the hunt master spoke up. "Silence is important. Boars have a keen sense of smell and hearing, so we must tread lightly and whisper when we speak to each other. We"ll use a special signal for when you see a boar or in case, you're in trouble." He made a strange gobbling sound that came deep within his throat.

Vivienne leaned in closer to Benedict. "Do you really think pretending to be a turkey is the smartest move if you're being attacked by a boar?"

Benedict couldn"t help but chuckle. "Are you actually frightened?"

"Shut up," Vivienne said with annoyance.

The hunt master turned to them with a stern look. "This sport has its risks. A cornered boar is no joke, so keep your distance. Underestimating them can lead to serious trouble."

He then spent a good couple of minutes instructing them on how to make that peculiar turkey gobble. Once satisfied with their attempts, he declared, "Now, to the hunt!"

Rifles, hunting spears, and knives were handed out, and the party formed a line. As they stepped into the woods and spread out, the quiet of the forest enveloped them. It wasn"t long before Benedict found himself alone, his hunting rifle a steadfast companion on his shoulder.

Bird chirping echoed from the canopies above; the scent of evening dew filled the air. It brought him back to a different time in these very woods. Many years ago, he came here with his father and Percy. They hunted every summer, but he vividly remembered that one time. They ate roasted chestnuts and slept under the stars. He was ten. Percy was seven. They had nothing to worry about. They were best friends. Those times felt like a lifetime ago.

His heart twinged at the memory. Occasionally, he wondered why he and Percy drifted apart. It wasn"t anything significant. They always had their differences, yet made an effort to respect these differences until one day, they just stopped trying.

In serene moments like this, Benedict wished for everything to go back to the way it used to be. However, with so many things said and done between them, it seemed impossible. He anticipated that when Percy and Beatrice married and moved away, they would eventually lose the remnants of their brotherly relationship. It bothered him if he had to admit it. Yet he didn't know how to cross the abyss between them.

For about fifteen minutes, Benedict walked in silence, his eyes searching for any trace of the boar, yet he saw nothing. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him. He quickly turned around to see Lady Hawthorne making her way through the trees towards him.

"How do you do, Mr. Blackmoor?" she inquired, drawing closer.

"How do you do, Lady Hawthorne," said Benedict, his tone reserved.

"How do you find the hunt?" she asked. Her voice wasn"t even subtly lowered. Any boar within a mile was sure to have bolted by now.

"Fine, and you?" Benedict replied, following the norms of polite conversation.

"Wonderful," she dismissed his reply with a wave of her hand. "I couldn"t help but notice how Miss LaFleur was the center of attention at the last night"s ball. She"s certainly left an impression."

"Indeed."

"She"s quite the enigma, isn"t she? And it seems you"re rather smitten with her." Lady Hawthorne observed, her tone implying more than just casual interest.

Benedict remained silent, aware that she was steering the conversation towards a particular point.

"Though, I was under the impression you favored women with more voluptuous figures. Someone like Emily Ashcroft, perhaps, with her curvier physique and ample charms. But I"m sure Miss LaFleur could be also considered beautiful," she continued as they walked further into the woods, "which is understandable, given her striking appearance." After a brief silence, her expression shifted to one of someone privy to a secret. "I hate to be the bearer of unpleasant news, Mr. Blackmoor, but I fear I"ve come across something that might not sit well with you." She paused for effect.

Feeling a growing unease, Benedict asked, "What are you implying?"

"I'm not easily fooled. The moment I met Miss LaFleur, I sensed she was hiding something. Turns out I was right. She"s been lying to you, to all of us."

Benedict managed to keep his expression neutral.

"Lying?" he asked, his voice carefully measured.

Lady Hawthorne's hawkish gaze never left his face, her excitement palpable as she prepared to reveal her discovery.

"She's not the French heiress she claims to be," she said, scrutinizing his face for any sign of a reaction.

Benedict, however, gave nothing away, his expression inscrutable.

"She can't play pianoforte. Or ride a horse. And her table manners…they"re lacking, to say the least."

Benedict felt a lump form in his throat.

"What exactly are you saying, Lady Hawthorne?"

She grinned triumphantly. "She never had a governess, Mr. Blackmoor. That much is clear. I am certain she comes from humble beginnings, a poor family."

His heart fluttered. She doesn"t know. At least, not the whole truth.

"She deceived you," Lady Hawthorne persisted. "But don"t blame yourself. Her peculiar beauty would enchant any man. She wields it like a weapon. I haven't figured out her true identity yet, but I promise to inform you as soon as I do so you don't feel like a fool."

A surge of rage welled up inside Benedict.

"You are wrong," he said. "If you intend to cast a shadow on Miss LaFleur's reputation to promote Miss Ashcroft, please don't bother. Miss Ashcroft does not interest me."

His candid display of anger caught her off guard. The smugness in her smile wavered, and she stopped in her tracks, a look of sudden realization flashing across her face.

"You knew, didn"t you?" she whispered. "You knew she was lying. You were aware of that from the very beginning."

"I don't know what you"re talking about," Benedict responded icily. "I would advise you to avoid meddling in affairs that don"t concern you. In an attempt to discredit Miss LaFleur's reputation, you"re only tarnishing your own."

Surprise flickered in Lady Hawthorne's eyes. She seemed taken aback by such direct confrontation, and truthfully, Benedict himself hadn"t intended to escalate the situation. However, the wave of anger that had overtaken him left no room to maneuver the conversation diplomatically.

Lady Hawthorne"s usual composure was gone, her expression altered. At that moment, Benedict realized their relationship of polite exchanges had ended. But just as Lady Hawthorne was about to respond, her eyes widened in sheer terror. She pointed behind him and let out a sharp, terrified shriek.

Benedict spun around just in time to see a massive boar charging straight at him. With only moments to react, he swiftly grabbed the rifle from his shoulder and fired one, two, three shots. As Lady Hawthorne turned and fled, still screaming, the boar collided with Benedict, sending him tumbling onto his back.

It felt like an eternity before he realized what had happened. His head was screaming from the impact, and he could feel the heavy weight on his chest, warm blood trickling down his face.

The boar was dead, he was certain, for it had stopped moving. He tried to push the animal off himself, but pain seared through his leg, leaving him pinned beneath its lifeless body.

For a few minutes, he lay there staring at the sky peeking through the tree tops, a lone blackbird singing nearby.

His only hope was that Lady Hawthorne would bring help. However, given their conversation, he wasn"t entirely sure she would.

He must have slipped into unconsciousness because when he next opened his eyes, Vivienne"s face hovered over him.

"Thank god you"re alive," she said, relief washing over her face.

Benedict noticed that the heavy weight of the boar was gone. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. They were alone in the clearing, with the boar lying dead beside him.

"Are you hurt?" Vivienne asked, wiping his forehead with her handkerchief.

"That's the boar's blood," Benedict said, taking the handkerchief from her and cleaning the rest of his face. "But I think my leg's hurt." He gestured towards a dark spot over his right knee.

Vivienne swiftly took out a knife and cut through his trousers to reveal the wound on his thigh. It wasn"t deep, but it was long, extending across his upper leg. She retrieved a small bottle, resembling a perfume vial, from her pocket, soaked her handkerchief in the liquid, and began to clean the wound. It stung.

"Why did it attack you?" Vivienne asked. She ripped the lining of her jacket and started bandaging his leg.

"I think it was annoyed by Lady Hawthorne's voice," Benedict said, managing to joke.

"So that was her I heard screaming," Vivienne said musingly. "I suspected that the pitch was too high to be yours."

Benedict rolled his eyes. Then he remembered their conversation.

"Lady Hawthorne is onto you," he said.

"What do you mean?" Vivienne cocked an eyebrow.

"She knows you"re lying about your background," Benedict said. "That you are not of noble birth."

Vivienne frowned. "How does she know I'm not?"

Benedict then relayed their conversation, leaving nothing out.

Once he finished, Vivienne said, "It's a pity the boar didn't attack her instead."

"I"m glad you"re in a good mood, but I think the situation is serious," Benedict said, worried that she wasn"t taking his words seriously. "Lady Hawthorne doesn"t know who you really are yet, but she"s determined to find out."

Vivienne just shrugged. "The only thing she can find out is that Vivienne LaFleur doesn't exist. But even then, she won"t have concrete proof unless she actually travels to France. Can you stand?" she asked after fastening the bandage.

"I"m not comfortable with that," Benedict said.

Vivienne frowned and gave him a once-over.

"You can rest if you like," she offered. "If you're sure you can wait for me here without getting into any more trouble with the boar, I can go get help."

"No, I mean, I'm not comfortable with Lady Hawthorne nosing around in our business," Benedict said, struggling to stand up. Vivienne took him by the elbow, helping him up. His leg hurt like hell, but he could walk.

He made a few steps forward but then abruptly stopped, biting down a hiss of pain. Vivienne eyed his bandage with suspicion, "We should head back to Blackmoor before you lose your leg."

"It's just a cut," Benedict said, brushing off her concern. "Let"s return to the camp. I"ll change, and we can tell the gamekeeper about the boar."

"You should really see a doctor," Vivienne said. "I knew a drag queen who stepped onto her ingrown nail and then had her entire foot cut off."

"I'm sure I'll be—"

A loud rustling sound came from the bushes nearby. Both of them turned, hands on their rifles.

"What was that?" Vivienne said, stepping towards the bushes.

Benedict caught her by the elbow, "Careful. It might be another boar."

At that exact moment, they heard a loud squeal. They exchanged looks. Vivienne parted bush leaves with the barrel of her rifle and let out a sigh of relief. "It's piglets."

"That explains the mother's aggression," Benedict nodded.

Vivienne paused, looking at them, and said, "I hate hunting."

They traced their way back out of the woods, with Benedict using his rifle as a makeshift cane. His leg pulsed with pain with every step, but he tried to distract himself from it.

"Where's your friend?" he asked Vivienne. She walked in front of him, pushing away twigs and branches. They didn't encounter anyone else from the party, so the rest must have already been deep in the woods.

"You mean my chaperone Charlotte?" Vivienne said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know. Maybe she's keeping Mr. Winchester company. Apparently, he"s quite taken with her. I believe I heard him refer to her as enchanting."

Benedict let out a hoarse laugh, "No offence, but that's hardly the word I'd choose to describe her."

Vivienne chuckled. "She's one of those people I can count on. Who have known me forever, seen the real me—at my best and worst, but still chose to stay by my side, you know?"

Benedict nodded musingly but then said, "I've never had people like that in my life."

Vivienne leveled him a look but didn't say anything. For a short while, they walked in silence, accompanied only by the soft rustling of discolored grass and crackling of twigs.

Benedict was the one to eventually break the silence, "Can I ask you something?"

"I always find it funny when people start with that," Vivienne smirked. "Go ahead."

"Why do you do it? The drag thing, I mean."

"Because I enjoy it," she said without hesitation. "It's a form of self-expression."

"But isn't it scary? Always worrying about how people might react if they discover…your secret."

"You mean like how you reacted that first night?" she teased with a twisted smile.

"I was drunk and a complete idiot," Benedict admitted, feeling his neck burn. "You're never going to let me forget that, aren't you?"

"No," she smiled with a corner of her lips, but her smile quickly faded. "There are people who want to hurt you just because you are different. At first, it was terrifying, but I got used to it."

"Did…" Benedict hesitated, struggling to ask the right question, "Did someone…"

"Yes," Vivienne said, her voice seemingly emotionless. "I've been attacked multiple times."

Benedict felt a chill run down his spine.

"But you could say it's easier for me," Vivienne continued nonchalantly. "Drag is only my stage persona."

"So—" Benedict felt clumsy asking this. "So, you live as a man?"

"Yes," Vivienne said, a shadow of a smile on her lips. "As soon as my shift at The Shiny Clam is over, the drag comes off." She paused. "Well—usually. My arrangement with you is the exception. But you could say this is also a performance."

"But your friend Charlotte is not like that, is she?" Benedict guessed.

Vivienne nodded. "People like her always get the short end of the stick. She can't be herself without constantly looking over her shoulder. It's dangerous. And lonely since she doesn't have her family around." She paused for a moment but then smirked. "Actually, none of us do. Luckily, we have our found family, the other drag queens."

The tree canopies rustled above them; the wind played with their hair.

"So… you don't speak with your family?" Benedict asked when they approached a small clearing. The sky had already darkened, but he was still able to make out a deer frozen on the opposite side of the glade.

"No," Vivienne said slowly. "I lost contact with them because…because I"m queer."

That word seemed to hang heavy in the air, making Benedict's heart clench.

"They threatened to disown me when they found out," Vivienne continued. "Said that if I don't marry a woman and settle down, they shall forget I even existed. So I left home. I was eighteen." Bitterness seeped through Vivienne's voice, her face darkened, but she quickly shook it off. "That's when I found The Shiny Clam," she continued. "They gave me a job, a place to stay, food on the table."

"Do you regret it?" Benedict asked. "Leaving home."

"I had no other choice," Vivienne shrugged. "It was the only way for me to be myself."

There was silence between them.

"I understand," Benedict said.

"Do you really?" Vivienne's eyes found his. "I don"t want to be rude, but it seems like you"re doing everything except being yourself."

"What do you mean?" Benedict felt his face heat up and looked away, thankful for the cover of twilight.

"You"re trying to please everyone. Trying to fit into the high society, even though you obviously don"t."

"It"s not like that," Benedict said.

"If you say so." Vivienne smiled.

They left the clearing and spent a few more minutes in silence.

"They"re not all bad," Benedict finally said. "The people of the high society. They"re no different than your lot."

"You mean poor people?"

"No, I mean drag queens. We just have rules and traditions."

"If you say so," Vivienne repeated. "Do you think it"s wise for me to stay?" she asked, changing the subject. "You know, considering your conversation with the matchmaker."

Benedict shrugged. "Well, I was incredibly rude to her, so I think she"ll either back off completely or go all out to make our lives miserable. But we'll deal with that later. Besides, this isn"t about her. My grandfather wants to see me happy, and he will."

Vivienne coughed, "So much for not trying to please others."

Benedict ignored her remark. "Stay tonight," he said. "I"ll compensate the money you lose at the cabaret."

Vivienne didn't instantly reply, and her face seemed relaxed and untroubled. Benedict started to wonder if she even heard him when she finally replied, "Fine. But I'm not taking money from you this time. It would make me feel like a common courtesan."

***

When they returned to the camp, the rest of the party was still in the woods. Benedict's valet, John, met them at the clearing, where the servants had already started preparing for the post-hunt dinner. The cooks were roasting dilled potatoes on an open fire and buttering corn before grilling while footmen set up tents for the night.

John showed Benedict and Vivienne to a bonfire and gave them cushions to sit on since the ground was cold and damp. It was only after Benedict asked him to send someone for a doctor to the nearest village that John noticed his bandaged wound.

"What…What happened to your leg, your lordship?" the valet asked in his reserved manner, although his eyes betrayed his worry.

"It was a boar," Benedict said and then told him the full story.

John just stood there, listening. When Benedict finished, he said, "Thank goodness Miss LaFleur was there to help you." He bowed a little, looking at Vivienne. "It is amazing that a lady with such a…fragile constitution managed to drag a grown boar off his lordship. Thank you, madam."

"You are most welcome," Vivienne said with a hint of a smile twisting the corners of her lips. "I have a couple of tricks down my sleeves."

John thanked her again before turning back to his master. "Do you think it's wise to stay the night here, out in the cold, considering your injury, your lordship? Don't you think it's better to return to Blackmoor?"

Benedict shook his head.

"I'm fine, John. It's just a cut. Please bring a doctor so he can properly clean and bandage the wound, and I will be all right."

"Of course, your lordship," John said, regaining his composure. "I will send for a doctor momentarily." His eyes lingered once more on the darkened cloth around his master's leg. Then he nodded and hurried away.

"He looks at you like an anxious puppy," Vivienne said with humor in her eyes.

"We've known each other since we were kids," Benedict explained. "John is the son of our late butler, William. Percy, John, and I used to play in the garden together all the time. But then we grew up. John became my valet, and now everything's kind of strange between us."

Vivienne lifted an eyebrow. "Strange how?"

Benedict smirked. "Well, we used to fight with sticks, climb trees and discover foxholes together, and now he irons my shirts and calls me ‘your lordship', although I'm not even a lord yet."

Vivienne's eyes lingered on his face. "Do you like him?" she asked abruptly.

Benedict looked at her. "What?"

She cocked an eyebrow but didn't repeat the question. For a few seconds, the tension between them was almost tangible, and the only sound was the crackle of fire.

Benedict blinked, feeling his face burn.

"No, I don't," he finally said just to get over with the silence.

Vivienne frowned. "Well, if you don't like your own valet, you should sack him," she deadpanned.

Benedict"s face felt as if it were on fire. "No—I mean, he"s great as a servant. And he was a good friend." Then, feeling inexplicably cornered, he cleared his throat and added, "He"s married."

There was silence again before Vivienne suddenly gave him a wide, satisfied smile. "Oh, I love this shade on you." With that, she brushed his neck with her fingertips.

Before Benedict could come up with a reply, John returned with a tray, saving him from the embarrassment. The tray held two cups of tea and a saucer with biscuits. John placed the tray on the ground in front of them, and Benedict picked up a cup, happy for the distraction.

"The doctor is sent for to Owlridge, your lordship," said the valet. "Don't worry, I'm sure he will be here in an hour at the latest."

"I'm not worried," Benedict said, trying to sound relaxed and ignore Vivienne's quizzical look.

John bowed. "Please enjoy the tea and call me if you need anything else."

"We will, thank you, John."

***

The doctor arrived half an hour later and promptly attended to Benedict"s wound. He confirmed what they already knew—the wound wasn't serious but needed to be thoroughly cleaned and bandaged.

Soon after he had left, some of the hunting party members began to return. As it turned out, Lady Hawthorne caused quite a commotion with her boar story, telling everyone that young Mr. Blackmoor almost certainly was either dead or gravely injured. So, the party had been scouring the woods in search of the Blackmoor heir or his lifeless body.

However, to everyone's surprise, Benedict was alive and well. For the next hour or so, he had to repeat the boar story at least half a dozen times before everybody was content, and the whole camp knew exactly what had happened and how he survived.

Grandfather Henry was one of the last ones to return and the most relieved to see his grandson well and unharmed.

"Thank goodness, you"re okay," he said to Benedict, kneeling to give him a hug. "Lady Hawthorne gave us quite a scare. How bad is the injury?"

"It's nothing," Benedict reassured. "The doctor already took care of it."

"Thank god." Grandfather Henry patted his grandson on the back and then released him. "I knew you were too good of a huntsman to let a boar take you off guard."

"Well, it actually did take me off guard," Benedict admitted reluctantly. "But only because Lady Hawthorne distracted me."

He noticed the matchmaker at a distance, speaking with Charlotte and Lord Winchester. She was the only one who didn't come up to speak to him and Vivienne after returning from the woods and deliberately avoided looking at them.

"Oh, I'm not even sure what that woman is doing here," Grandfather Henry said quietly so that Benedict and Vivienne were the only ones who could hear him. "I told your mother just this morning that you obviously don't need Lady Hawthorne's matchmaking services anymore." He shot a quick glance at Vivienne and stopped as though realizing he said too much. Then he hurried to finish the conversation. "Well, I'm glad that you are all right, Benedict. But if your leg continues to hurt tomorrow morning, you shall return to Blackmoor at once. Got it?"

"Fine," Benedict said. "But I'm sure, tomorrow I'll be as good as new."

"I do hope that's true." Grandfather Henry winked at him before looking at Vivienne again. "Thank you for saving my grandson, young lady."

"I really didn't do anything, your lordship," Vivienne said.

"Of course you did," Grandfather Henry replied with a smile. Then looked around. "Is it me, or is it time for dinner already? I'm starving! Where's Mrs. Tarrot?"

***

Half an hour later, the footmen began serving dinner. The hunters sat by the fire, their faces illuminated by the flickering orange light. With plates on their laps full of roasted potatoes, veal, and warm loaves of bread, everyone ate, drank wine, and talked about the hunt.

"The gamekeeper says the boar you shot is over four hundred pounds," Emily Ashcroft said as she settled on a pillow next to Benedict. She had untied her shiny light-brown hair, which fell down onto her shoulders in thick curls. "Considering it was that big, I'm surprised the bullets even stopped it."

"Well, it knocked me off my feet," Benedict admitted. "I was distracted by a conversation and haven't seen it coming."

"Distracted by a conversation?" Lord Exington said with a smirk. "I would think you're talking about a certain young lady if I wasn't with her at the time." He shot a quick glance at Vivienne and then back at Benedict.

"It was someone else," Benedict said evasively, aware of everyone around the fire looking at him with interest.

"I have a friend whose brother was killed by a boar," Beatrice said with an air of importance. "That"s why you can"t allow yourself to get distracted during a hunt. Oh, and by the way, Percival shot a boar, too." She looked at him proudly.

Percy, sitting by her side, blushed to the tips of his ears.

"It was a mean one," he said casually. "It tried to charge at me, but I managed to dodge it."

"It"s called muscle memory," Beatrice prompted with a curt smile.

"Oh, then my muscles have a lot to remember," Erik Winchester interjected, giving her a quick glance. "Has my brother told you about the time we shot a bear during one of our hunts?"

Beatrice shook her head, but before she could respond, Percy suddenly turned towards Vivienne and asked loudly, "Is it true that you pushed the boar off Benny?"

Vivienne stole a glance at Benedict before replying. "It's not that big of a deal. By the way, we found piglets in the bushes," she said, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic.

"Don't be so humble, Miss LaFleur," Lord Exington interjected, his mouth full of meat. He sat on a pillow opposite her with his legs crossed. "Be honest—you have some sort of a secret power, don't you?"

"What if I do?" Vivienne said, casually laughing it off. "To be honest, for me, pushing the boar off was much easier than becoming Mr. Blackmoor's human crutch on the way back from the woods, that much I'm sure of."

Everyone laughed. Benedict gave her a look, unsure whether to smile or roll his eyes. Vivienne held his gaze, a mocking smile twisting her lips.

At that moment, Lord Winchester approached the company sitting around the fire. He had a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. "Oh, and Miss Chapeau here is quite the marksman," he said, smiling affectionately at Charlotte, who was voraciously eating her stew. "She shot three geese."

"I didn"t know we were hunting geese," Vivienne said, turning to her friend.

"I was just, "ow you say it…borr'ed?" Charlotte said, her words drenched in a thick French accent.

Laughter echoed again.

***

As the evening approached ten o"clock, the hunters retreated to their tents, preparing for an early rise the next morning. Just as everyone settled in, the snow began to fall, quickly turning into a flurry.

Remembering that Vivienne had come to the hunt with no spare clothes, Benedict gathered a few of his own garments and quietly made his way to her tent. He was anxious, hoping he wouldn't mistake it for somebody else"s, knowing that a late-night visit to an unmarried woman could lead to a serious scandal. Fortunately, he found the right tent, and the snowstorm ensured that nobody saw him.

"Can I come in?" Benedict called out over the sound of the wind.

"Yes," was the quiet response from the inside.

Benedict crouched and entered the tent, dusting off the snow. He paused at the entrance, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness of the oil lamp. Inside sat a young man, and it took Benedict a second to realize it was Victor, not Vivienne. He wasn"t wearing a wig or any makeup and looked even younger than when Benedict had first seen him out of drag.

"Hi," Benedict said, a little taken aback. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Victor said, his voice slightly groggy as he looked at Benedict quizzically. "Did you need something?"

"I brought you some spare clothes," Benedict said, handing him over a shirt and a pair of trousers. "They might be a bit large for you, though."

"Oh, thanks." Victor nodded towards a stack of neatly folded garments by the bed. "The maid brought some of your mother"s clothes earlier. But they have far too many ruffles for my taste," he added with a chuckle. "Besides, I like to sleep out of drag. So thanks for this."

With a swift motion, Victor took off his hunting shirt. Trying to give him some privacy, Benedict looked away, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victor put on the shirt and change from his hunting skirt into the pants he had brought.

"Thank you for staying," Benedict said awkwardly, watching the shadows of the snowfall on the tent"s canvas as it covered the roof.

Victor shrugged. "It's fine. How"s your leg?"

"Fine," Benedict echoed.

"You can sit down," Victor offered, gesturing towards the foot of his mattress. He seemed to find Benedict"s awkwardness amusing. Now dressed in clean clothes, Victor looked both comfortable and relaxed.

"Thanks," Benedict said.

The tent was so small they had barely two feet between them. Outside, the wind howled as the snowstorm raged on.

"Would you like some?" Victor asked, unexpectedly producing a bottle of whiskey.

Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Where did you get it?"

Victor shrugged. "Charlotte stole it from someone. Probably, Lord Winchester. That old geezer is crazy about her."

Seeing his flushed neck and face, it dawned on Benedict that Victor had already had a bit to drink.

"What?" Victor asked, catching his wandering gaze.

"I wouldn"t mind a sip," Benedict said.

The whiskey was lukewarm but tingled pleasantly on his tongue. He took a couple of generous gulps, feeling warmth spread through his body. He drank a little more.

"Why are they closing your cabaret?" Benedict asked, passing the bottle back to Victor.

Victor took a swig before responding. "There was a woman in town who suspected her son was involved in some shady business. She thought it had something to do with drugs and hired a detective to follow him, only to discover he was performing at The Clam as a drag queen." He paused. "To her, it was even worse. Of course, she demanded he quit the job, but he refused. So she got the police involved and threatened to shut down the cabaret. But even after he did quit, she didn"t stop. She pressured the building"s owner, who had always been supportive of us, saying that we were a disgrace to the town and its people. Claiming that we're unnatural. Perverted. Eventually, the owner caved and decided to sell. That"s why we need the money."

"I"m sorry to hear that," Benedict said, taking the bottle back from Victor and having another drink. "It"s admirable what you and your friends are doing. You're going against the grain despite all the danger."

"That"s nice of you to say," Victor said with a smile, but there was sadness in his eyes. "But I can tell you still think of us as odd and unnatural."

"No, I don"t." Benedict shook his head. "Not anymore."

Victor let out a light chuckle. "Really? When did you have this change of heart?" His gaze seemed more piercing without Vivienne"s elaborate makeup, raw and unshielded.

"Since I got to know you," Benedict said honestly.

Victor laughed. "Wow, I never expected the Blackmoor heir to fall for me in just three days," he teased, his eyes locking with Benedict's.

They shared a moment of silence, listening to the roaring of the wind.

Benedict watched as Victor took a slow sip, the edges of his mouth curling into a half-smile as he savored the taste. A question popped into his head, one he didn't even realize he wanted to ask. "What"s it like? Being Vivienne?"

Victor looked up, caught off guard. He took a moment to think. "It"s liberating," he finally said. "I"m not bound by society"s expectations of what a man needs to be. I can be whoever I want. I can be bold. Audacious. I can make people laugh. Or cry. It"s like being the best version of yourself."

Benedict reached for the whiskey again, his hand brushing Victor"s. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him. It must have been the alcohol.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Victor broke into that same sarcastic smile Vivienne often wore in public. "It"s funny," he said. "I feel fearless as Vivienne. But not as Victor."

"Why?" Benedict asked. He was enjoying Victor"s company as much as Vivienne"s. Perhaps even more. There was something endearing about Victor"s candidness.

Victor shrugged, his smile fading, and took another sip from the bottle. Benedict followed suit, the fiery trail of whiskey blazing down his throat, a stark contrast to the growing cold in the tent. He watched as Victor shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

"I can start a fire if you"d like," Benedict suggested, noting Victor"s discomfort.

"I"m fine," Victor replied, his gaze fixed on the flickering lamp light. "I wouldn't want you to burn me in my sleep."

For a moment, Benedict hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. Then he extended his arm, draping it around Victor"s shoulders. He felt Victor tense and briefly considered retracting his arm. But after a moment, Victor leaned in, resting his head against Benedict"s shoulder.

Benedict took another swig from the bottle, the liquid heat sloshing down his throat. The world was fuzzy around the edges, and everything blurred, except Victor, who sat by his side in the cramped tent. Victor accepted the bottle with a shaky hand, the orange light catching on the amber liquid as he brought it to his lips.

He drank the last of the whiskey and placed the empty bottle aside.

"Do you want to lie down?" Benedict suggested, a bit slurred from the drink.

Victor looked at him, his eyes glazed with alcohol. He nodded and lay down on the mattress, and Benedict lay beside him. They huddled under the blankets, their bodies close, with barely any space between them.

Victor was shivering, and Benedict noticed how pale he was.

Wrapping an arm around him, Benedict pulled him closer, trying to share as much warmth as he could. Victor was rigid at first, his muscles taut with cold, but slowly, he started to relax against Benedict"s body. The smell of him was intoxicating, a mix of whiskey and wet earth. It was overwhelming, disorienting, and yet Benedict found himself drawing closer.

Benedict felt Victor's eyes fixed on him and looked down. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the intensity of Victor's gaze took Benedict's breath away. Their faces were mere inches apart. He could feel the warmth of Victor"s breath against his skin. Benedict's heart raced, its rhythm echoing somewhere in his throat. He licked his lips; Victor looked at them. A buzzing sensation pierced through Benedict's body, and without thinking, he closed the distance between them.

Warm and cold, their lips crashed together. Victor tasted like whiskey, and cherry, and peppermint. Benedict felt his head spinning, his whole body weakening from more than just the alcohol. For a few seconds, the only thing that he could hear was the sound of their ragged breathing against the howling of the wind.

But before he could really think of what was happening, the kiss was suddenly over.

Victor put a hand on his chest, setting some distance between them. His eyes were dark and serious, his lips swollen.

"You're drunk," Victor said, his face still flushed from the kiss. His expression was unreadable.

Benedict frowned, breathing heavily.

"I know," he said.

They looked at each other before Victor blinked and turned away.

As he settled onto the mattress to sleep, Benedict got up and straightened out his shirt. He looked at Victor's tense back one last time before leaving the tent.