Archive of Our Own

Charles had a problem, and it started at the season's first ball. 

Eyes pierced Charles's skin and saw far into the depths of his soul. Or, at the very least, he was being watched. 

In a way, he didn't blame his shameless viewer. Charles knew he was quite a sight.

The dress was new to make an unforgettable first impression. It was a soft blue, the kind that perfectly complemented his eyes. The fabric was encrusted with all sorts of rhinestone crystals, the kind only upper society families could afford. To work with the dress's neckline, his hair was done up; it had taken two and a half hours, and it was pinned in a way that made him nervous to move his head too much. His mother would tell him it was good for his posture. 

Charles didn't think about such things; he was too focused on how his sleeves itched, his necklace too tight around his neck, and his corset forcing him to breathe up rather than out.  

Unfortunately for him, his 'boyish tendencies' (called such by Lorenzo) had become more undesirable as he'd aged. 

Now that the season had begun he had to act like a 'proper lady' (another Lorenzo term). 

Right after Charles’s presentation, Lorenzo promised he'd find a good match, something Charles knew he'd act like he'd stayed true to. 

“I promise I will find you an adequate marriage by the end of the season,” Lorenzo had said. 

“No marriage will be adequate for me,” Charles had snarked. 

“Just wait and see; I will be right,” Lorenzo assured him. Charles rolled his eyes. 

There was no use in arguing with his older brother; Charles knew because he'd already tried. Now that father was gone, Lorenzo felt as though he needed to prove he could be the man of the house, and for some reason, that involved Charles's personal affairs. 

When Charles had told Lorenzo how he felt inside Lorenzo had said: 

"If anyone hears you talking of this nonsense you'll never marry, we'll have to put you in an asylum for psychosis. Please, Charlotte, absolve your mind of this idea at once," and Charles had decided he would never bring it up again. 

Lorenzo might've been right. Charles had never heard of the phenomenon he was constantly experiencing. 

To be a woman who felt like he was meant to be a man. If anyone else heard it, they'd indeed declare him insane. But far down, in the depths of his soul that this stranger stared upon, Charles knew he was a man. 

The eyes left him, and Charles attempted to compose himself. This was his life now. The best course of action would be to find someone decent to marry before his brother grew restless. 

"Charlotte," his brother cleared his throat. Charles focused. His brother was trying to introduce him to someone. In front of him was a fairly attractive man. He wasn't too old and didn't look cruel, so he'd already gained two significant check marks in Charles's book. "Carlos, this is my sister, Charlotte Leclerc," Charles felt his eye twitch. 

"This is a friend of mine, Lord Carlos Sainz," Lorenzo gestured between the two of them. Charles curtseyed and then almost vomited in his mouth. 

"It's wonderful to meet you, my Lord," he hoped his face told a different story than his mind. Lord Sainz kissed his hand like a proper gentleman.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked. If he had wanted an honest answer, Charles would've said no. He never liked dancing, and the dance card wrapped around his wrist felt like a handcuff. 

"Of course," Charles replied because he knew Lorenzo would kill him if he said the other thing. Lord Sainz offered his hand, and Charles took it, and they were dancing. 

The host's ballroom was beautiful, that, Charles would admit. They practically glided around it because although Charles hated dancing, he happened to be quite skilled—only the best lessons for a Leclerc. 

Chandeliers coated the ceiling, flowers climbing columns that sat between the dance floor and the outer rim of the room. 

Lord Sainz spun him around, and Charles decided that an adequate amount of time had passed, and now it was time for small talk. 

"You're my first dance of the evening," Charles murmured. He said it for a reason. Flattery. Make Lord Sainz feel as though there is something special about him that is of interest to Charles, encouraging him to continue his pursuit. 

"I'm honored," Lord Sainz replied, Spanish accent ever-present. Charles wanted to roll his eyes at the words. 

What Charles learned throughout the course of the dance was that Lord Sainz's looks were to compensate for his unbelievable lack of personality. Despite this, he considered Lord Sainz a great option merely because of his age. 

The other development Charles noticed as the dance continued was that the eyes were back. 

It was as disturbing as it was intriguing. It was a splendid tactic if done on purpose; Charles was utterly taken with the stranger who kept staring at him. 

"It was lovely to meet you, m'lady," Lord Sainz said, the dance ending. He kissed Charles's hand again, and Charles smiled like he'd been told often to do. "I hope I'll have the pleasure sometime again soon," which meant the next ball. 

"That would be wonderful," Charles said, sounding just the right mix of genuine and interested. 

With that, Charles was cut loose. He'd have moments before his brother found him again, precious moments.

He found himself walking toward the stranger, the questions too much to leave unanswered. The man had hair that looked like parched dirt and eyes like glaciers Charles had only read about. 

"You're staring at me," Charles remarked. If his brother heard him approach an eligible suitor with that sort of attitude, he'd marry Charles off to the first person who asked. 

"I am," the man replied, and Charles narrowed his eyebrows. 

"Why?" Charles asked, unhappy with the man's few words.

"It might offend you," the man muttered. Charles pursed his lips. 

"I am not easily offended," Charles said it only because he was desperate to know. 

"I was staring because I feel you are the only one in the entire room who is as uncomfortable here as myself," Charles flushed with embarrassment. Was it that transparent?

"Usually, when I observe these things, it is simply being unattractive that makes the person uncomfortable, but you're quite beautiful, so it can't be that. Then I thought, perhaps it's the clothing, maybe it's irritating you, but surely you'd be used to it. Well... I can't think of any other justifiable reasons," Charles's mouth fell open in shock. That was the most backhanded compliment he'd ever been given. The gall of this man to say such a thing. Why, what right did this man have to be so critical? 

"If it is plaguing your mind so much, I'll reveal it to you," Charles replied. 

Charles didn't know what possessed him to say it; maybe it was the man's words or the thrill of it all, but he leaned forward so only the man could hear and said:

"I am a man," he murmured, "trapped inside a woman's body," he paused, registering the look of shock that was painting the man's face. "And every moment I spend here looking for a husband is another moment spent ensuring I shall never be free," Charles finished. He moved back to where he'd stood moments prior, a light smirk creeping onto his face as the man processed the words. "Is that well enough of a reason to appear uncomfortable?" 

Just as he said it, right before the idea of what he'd done had registered in his mind, a hand clasped down on his back. 

"Charlotte, you've been busy," Lorenzo said. "I see you've met a friend of mine." 

"We haven't been formally introduced," the man interjected. 

"Of course," Lorenzo replied. "Max, this is my little sister Charlotte Leclerc. Charlotte, this is Max Verstappen, Duke of Bedford," it was right as this little introductory sequence was occurring that Charles realized what he'd just done. 

A duke? 

Charles was so dimwitted he'd just said such a thing to a duke. No wonder the man's arrogance was so open and boundless. He held a position granted to his family by the royal family. 

Composure. Perhaps if he remained polite, this man would be kind enough to forget his words. 

"It's an honor to meet you, your grace," Charles said, his tone of voice completely changing, a soft, friendly smile settling on his face. 

"The honor is all mine," he replied, and like perfect, he took Charles's hand and kissed it as if he'd heard not a word of the previous. Charles thanked whoever was above for that. 

"Now, forgive me; one does come to wonder such things. How does a man not hailing from England like yourself gain dukedom?" Charles asked, really just an attempt to shift away from the topic of the prior conversation. 

"A natural question indeed. Maybe it's my unshakable charm," he winked at Charles. Well, this was incredibly confusing indeed; Charles had sort of expected to be met with disgust. 

"Now, Charlotte, we mustn't waste our time here. Max has no intention of marrying, and if I have any hope of finding you an eligible choice, we must continue while the night is young," Charles blinked, processing the words. 

"Of course, I'd hate to make you even more uncomfortable by being a waste of your time," Charles hated this guy, and he gave him a smile that read the complete opposite. 

"What was that about?" Lorenzo asked as he practically dragged Charles away by the shoulder. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Charles lied. "Excuse me a moment. I need some air," he said, and he yanked himself free and made a break for the outdoor patio. 

It overlooked the extensive grounds of the estate, which were well-kept. More beautiful flowers and gardens of perfectly sculpted shrubbery. It was almost entirely dark, the stars just barely visible in the sky. The air was cold enough that Charles felt a bit underdressed. He rested his hands on the marble railing and leaned out to look into the gardens. 

Charles breathed out, somewhat at ease without all the bustle surrounding him. 

It didn't feel fair to live a life like this. 

He touched the necklace, still tight around his neck, and gained a sudden urge to yank it off and throw it somewhere no one would ever find it. Charles knew better. It was expensive, and while that was no problem for the Leclercs, it still felt entitled to do such a thing. 

These few months would be his last months of freedom. 

There was a presence behind him, likely his brother pulling him in for more activities. 

"Oh, go away," he muttered, expecting his brother to not even hear in his complete disregard for Charles's words. 

"Have I already offended you so?" Charles turned abruptly. It was Verstappen, of course—the one person who he needed to keep in good spirits. 

"My sincerest apologies, your grace; I thoughtlessly assumed you were my brother," Charles said what was expected of him. 

"Did you mean it?" What? Did he mean what? 

"I'm sorry?" Charles asked for clarification. 

"What you said, why you were uncomfortable, did you mean it?" the Duke explained. Charles blinked. 

"No, I was speaking nonsense. It was a lapse in my judgment," it seemed the man thought about Charles's words for a moment. Charles hoped that with this phrase, he'd be out of the woods. 

"Oh," the Duke muttered, "because if you had, I'd be willing to help," he would? Verstappen turned to leave. 

"Wait," Charles said quickly. "What do you mean?" 

"So you did mean it?" the man quickly asked. Tricky of him. Charles thought about it momentarily and then nodded, biting on the inside of his mouth.

"I don't want to marry because... well, it's no matter. I just don't want to marry, but because of the whole 'being a duke thing,' I get bombarded by eligible women and their mothers. So I thought that perhaps, if we courted all season, and then I broke it off at the end, I'll appear taken, and you'll have more time to be yourself," Max proposed. Charles narrowed his eyebrows. 

It seemed like an excellent deal. Another season of freedom, and then he'd return to hell. But any more time would be better than none. 

"I'll do it," Charles accepted.

Verstappen seemed taken aback by how quickly he agreed. 

"Wonderful, the first thing we can do is use each other's names," he replied. Charles nodded. 

"We should probably go back inside, Max, because if someone finds us out here, my reputation will be ruined," Charles pointedly said the man's name. Max attempted to stop himself from laughing at the emphasis. 

"Of course, Charlie," Charles winced at the name. Max smiled. "Not that one?" 

"I appreciate the effort, but I much prefer Charles," Charles corrected. 

"Charles," Max tested the name out in his mouth. "Well then, Charles, would you care to dance?" 

"Do we have to?" was Charles's immediate response before remembering himself. Max only laughed, amused. 

"It would certainly be good for our image," Max was right, as much as Charles hated to admit it. 

"I suppose that's true," Charles agreed, taking Max's outstretched arm. 

They came back inside as discreetly as possible. The last song was ending, so the timing had been perfect to avoid anyone trying to force their daughter or sister upon Max and to go unnoticed by Lorenzo. 

They found a space on the floor, and the next song commenced, and it wasn't actually a horrible one. It was definitely one Charles preferred compared to some of the other dances. 

"Tell me about yourself," Max insisted right after he delicately twirled Charles around. "I know nothing spare your apparent dislike of dancing," Charles smiled at his assumption, "If I am to court you convincingly, I need to know all the little things." 

"Like what?" Charles asked, uncertain. He'd never been courted before, and ever since his father passed, his mother had hesitated to speak about it. 

"Like... do you like poetry?" Charles did laugh at that. 

"If you write me a poem, I cannot promise I will not laugh upon reading it," Max laughed with him. 

"Good, because I have never been a poet," Max replied, and after that, Charles was briefly in the clutches of another man. The dance called for it, so they were interrupted. Max's face was once more in front of his own in moments.

"If you wear more blue and white, we could look like a proper pair. Those are the colors my mother has picked for this season," Max nodded, understanding. "If you write letters, just know that Lorenzo will read them first," Charles hadn't known that Lorenzo did that until a few weeks ago when he actually was expecting mail.

"That's rather invasive," Max commented. Charles raised his eyebrows. 

 "My family will expect you to make an effort outside of the balls. They'll want you to show up during the day sometimes or promenade with us," he explained. "I love to ride, but Lorenzo considers it too boyish. Perhaps if you mention a similar interest, he might allow us to do it together," he might as well get some use out of the whole ordeal. 

"I, too, love to ride," Max revealed, "but I might be too competitive for you." 

"With all due respect, I've never lost a race. It is me you should fear," Max smiled as if Charles had just said something absolutely wonderful. 

"Then we must race as soon as we can. I'd love to be your first," Charles rolled his eyes, but not angrily, playfully. "And... flowers, what flowers should I send?" 

"Anything red," Charles loved red. He always seemed forced into pastels, blue, pink, and light green, but he felt no color for such as red. 

"Won't that clash with the wardrobe?" Max pointed out, and Charles shrugged.

"Yes, but you must understand, my family knows my affection for red. It makes it seem as though we've connected on a deep level," Charles explained. Max let out a hum of understanding. "Now, you must tell me about yourself," Charles prompted. Max thought about it momentarily as he twirled Charles around again. 

"I run the business my deceased father started here. Went to Oxford. A year from now, I intend to return home to the Netherlands. You already know I like to ride, I like to read too and I will also admit that although it's a dreadful hobby, I like to box," Charles raised his eyebrows at the last. 

Looking the man up and down, Charles concluded. 

"You have the figure for it," he commented. Max flushed like it was a compliment rather than an observation. Due to his reaction, Charles also took a moment to examine him that way. 

He was wonderfully attractive. Charles was undoubtedly attracted to men. 

But to think of Max like that was besides the point. This was just a game of make believe. 

The song was ending, and before Charles even realized it, Max was walking him away from the dance floor. 

"I'd be interested to see it someday," he remarked about Max's boxing.

"Oh no, your brother would never allow it," Max replied, and Charles laughed hard at the way Max had already caught on to his brother's antics. Then Charles took a second to look around the room properly and realized that quite a few eyes were on the two of them. 

"Charlotte!" it was angry. His brother had found them. "What did I tell you," he reprimanded and then turned to Max. "We need to have word now," he hissed. Max raised his eyebrows and glanced at Charles, who tried to withhold a chuckle. 

"Until we meet again, Charlie," Max said, and he winked right after, which made Charles feel as though he liked the nickname when it came from Max. Charles's brother looked increasingly angry. 

"Adieu, Max," Charles replied, and Lorenzo turned to look at him as if using the man's first name was akin to spitting in his face.  

Then Lorenzo was dragging the Duke outside, and Charles couldn't help but let out a light giggle at what had just occurred. 

The problem was not their arrangement. 

Charles had overheard the man speak to his brother that night and considered telling him he should take up poetry indeed. Somehow, Max had said these untrue but craftful things about Charles. 

“Lorenzo, you must understand, I am enchanted,” Max had insisted. Lorenzo narrowed his eyebrows. “I look upon Charlotte and find no other woman as beautiful, as endearing as she. Her voice is like silk to my ears, and her smile fills my heart with passion,” Max was mighty good at this because it made Charles sort of believe him. 

“My sister?” Lorenzo questioned, looking unconvinced. 

“Being her brother, you cannot see her as I do. We’ve spoken briefly, and I know already we will get along brilliantly. Her intelligence is unmatched, her humor advanced, her abilities rangeless. Please allow me to court her,” Max begged. Charles was confident that the man might get down on his knees for a moment. 

Lorenzo scratched the back of his neck in thought. 

“I thought you detested the idea of marriage,” he said, slowly falling into Max’s trap. 

“Can a man’s mind not change when faced with the possibility of true love?” That was a good one. It would be a bonus in Lorenzo’s mind to get Charles a match of high caliber that was also one of love. 

“Alright,” Lorenzo agreed quietly. “But she is my sister, and I will never forgive you if anything bad comes of this,” Lorenzo prefaced. Charles rolled his eyes, “I will not show you mercy in the defense of her honor.” 

“Of course,” Max replied, and the plan commenced. 

Max was remarkably good at it all.

The first time Charles received his flowers, he’d nearly forgotten they’d had the discussion. His mother had been overjoyed. Charles had other gentleman callers, but none seemed to grasp his affections for the red. Charles also played his part and told his family he loved them so much he wanted them in his room so he could wake up every morning and see them.  

The flowers were lovely, they weren’t the problem at all. 

It was strange for Charles when Max came to visit. 

“Max,” he’d murmured the first time upon the man’s entrance into the room. He must’ve seemed entranced momentarily because all their words at the ball that night had suddenly returned to him. In truth, he felt a small amount of unjustifiable fear that he would fail to meet Max’s expectations, which was crazy because there were no expectations at all. 

“Charlotte, your manners,” his mother reminded him. 

“It’s perfectly alright. Charlie and I agreed there was no use wasting words on titles,” Charles was suddenly speechless, waiting for his mother's reaction. “Would you mind if I sat?” he gestured at the space beside Charles. 

Charles realized only a few moments later that the question was for him. 

“Please,” Charles quickly insisted. Max sat, and Charles wracked his brain for conversation topics. “Since you first mentioned it, I’ve been curious about your horse,” he had been quite interested, and it was his first thought. 

Max smiled perfectly, maybe too perfectly. 

“I’ve raised him since he was a foal, the fastest horse in England. I called him Rocky,” Max explained, and Charles let out a very purposeful chuckle at the name choice. Max must’ve picked up on it because he winked. 

“You must ride often then,” Charles prompted. 

“As often as I can” must be excellent. “I do insist that we ride together sometime,” Max said pointedly. Charles’s mother actually laughed, and Max tilted his head to the side, confused. “I’m serious,” he assured. 

“Isn’t it a little too… unladylike?” she explained why she laughed. 

“No, I don’t think so at all,” Max replied. Charles’s mother raised her eyebrows. “Charlie mentioned an interest in it, and I’d love to explore that,” Charles’s mother gained this look of surprise that morphed into a gleeful smile, and she stood quickly to speak a few words to Arthur. 

Charles happened to hear the words, and they were along the lines of, “I think it is true love.” 

Charles smiled sweetly to Max. 

“Have I told you yet how beautiful you are today?” Max asked, and Charles was forced to suppress a snort. 

“Only today?” Charles couldn’t help but ask. Max laughed. 

“Every time I’ve seen you,” Max clarified, “perhaps when I look away, you turn into an ugly witch.” 

“You’ll never know,” Charles pointed out. 

“I’ll tell you,” Arthur said from across the room. “No ugly witch, but in the mornings, sometimes it’s close,” Charles scoffed, but Max only laughed harder. 

“One day, I hope to see it,” Max chirped. Charles flushed immediately at the implications, and it was a good thing, too, because that was the kind of response he should’ve had. His mother, however, got this sly, cheeky look that told Charles she would force him to say to her all the details of what had progressed them this far. 

It wasn’t Max’s time spent at calling time that was the problem; he was great at including Charles’s family in the conversation.

As promised, Max was at every dance. 

“Charlie!” he exclaimed just as the Leclercs entered together. It was the third of the season. Somehow, within mere moments of their entrance, he’d slotted himself right into Charles’s side. “Lady Leclerc, Lorenzo,” he greeted Charles’s mother, kissing her on the hand and Charles’s brother with a nod. 

“Max,” Lorenzo acknowledged. He was still incredibly skeptical. 

“I was starting to think you’d never arrive,” Max said to Charles. 

“Alas, here I am,” Charles remarked, Max laughed softly. “Come, let’s dance before I lose my nerve,” Charles suggested. 

“We wouldn’t want that, would we,” Max replied, knowing Charles’s nerve had been lost long ago. Charles smiled, half-forced. 

Max took Charles’s arm and led him toward the dancing. 

“Which is the bother today? Corset or dress?” Max asked, curious. 

“Both,” Charles grumbled. “I swear, one day I’ll make you wear a corset so you can understand the struggle,” Max smiled, and Charles assumed he might’ve been imagining it. 

“For our next dance, we should trade wardrobes,” Max joked. Charles laughed genuinely. 

“Can you imagine the look on my brother's face if we did that?” Max snickered at Charles’s words. Then they were dancing. It was slower, Max’s hand gently resting on Charles’s waist. 

“I don’t know, Charlie, I think you’d look good in my clothes,” Max said as he spun Charles close. Charles didn’t know why, but his face was rosy pink in embarrassment. 

“Have you seen the paper?” Charles asked. Recently, a gossip paper had been floating around London, all about the upper-class people. Usually, Charles didn’t care much for gossip, but everyone was reading it because it had some dark secrets and some prosperous things about everyone.

“I have,” Max affirmed, “we graced the second page,” Charles nodded, “I think I remember them saying something like ‘Let’s wait and see if this seemingly perfect match will go up in flames by the end of the season,’” Charles chuckled. 

“They say perfect because now that you’ve started wearing blue, we match,” Charles jokingly explained. Max raised an eyebrow. 

He had started wearing blue, generally a dark navy, but it did fit well with the clothing Charles’s mother had picked. 

“Now, please, tell me about your reading because Lorenzo told me that I’d better not let you bring it up because you’ll talk my ear off,” Charles’s mouth dropped open in an offense that Lorenzo had said something like that behind his back.  

“And heeding this warning, you’ve decided to ask me anyway,” Charles said, amused. 

“Why, of course, you have such interesting opinions. I like to listen to you, Charlie,” Max really needed to stop saying things like that because Charles was going to start getting the wrong idea. 

“Alright… it’s called St. Irvyne, it’s a gothic, supernatural sort of story,” Charles started. “I think Lorenzo detests when I speak of it because he’d much prefer me reading Austen,” Charles explained. 

Then Charles went on to ramble about it for the rest of the dance. He hadn’t even realized they were dancing at all at one point. Max asked insightful questions the whole time and seemed to be intent on listening. Charles enjoyed the conversation so much that all the other dancing partners he’d had that night felt drab and boring. 

They spoke outside again as well, even though they shouldn’t. 

“What of your family?” Charles inquired. Max sighed thoughtfully. 

“My mother and sister died at the same time of pneumonia,” he revealed. “My father died three years ago,” Charles put a hand on his shoulder somberly. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles said softly. 

“We both know loss,” Max remarked. 

“Yes, we do,” Charles replied, and that had been all. They hadn’t discussed anything else but stayed silent for the rest of their time. 

After that night, he even gifted Charles a few books he’d read and enjoyed, and then they spoke about them together. 

No, the dances, indeed, weren’t the problem. Charles even almost began to look forward to them. 

“I’m so glad you’ve found someone you truly like, Charlotte,” his mother had said one evening at supper. “He’s wonderful, and he matches your amount of energy brilliantly,” she commented. Charles smiled, then remembered it was all fake anyway. “And you’ve been so much happier too,” just because at least some part of the day he didn’t feel like as much of an imposter in his own body. 

The truth was, even with the clothes and hair of a woman, Charles felt as though he was actually being treated like a man for the first time with Max. He felt comfortable. He liked Max. 

“But you won’t misbehave tomorrow, right? Lorenzo is putting a lot of faith in you,” because after lots of begging and carefully sprinkled suggestions from Max, they got to ride together. 

“Of course, Maman ,” Charles assured her. “We will be in public the whole time anyway,” his mother smiled. 

They definitely weren’t going to behave. And they proved such the next day. 

“I hate riding,” Lorenzo commented.

“Don’t say that. She’ll hear you and make it hell,” Charles reprimanded him, gesturing to his horse. 

“She has no idea,” Lorenzo replied. Charles raised his eyebrows. 

“They understand more than you might think,” Charles knew because of two things: his own horse often seemed to sense his emotions, and he’d read a scientific journal about it. 

“Good morning,” Max said, catching up to them quickly. His horse, Rocky, if Charles remembered correctly, was beautiful and well-kept too. 

“She’s beautiful,” Charles commented, Max smiled happily. 

“Thank you,” Rocky was wholly white, and Max must’ve cleaned her often because the only part of her that seemed reasonably dirty was the areas around her hoofs. “Yours is, too. What’s its name?” 

“Percy,” Charles told him. Percy because his mother had once said to him that if he were a boy, he’d be named Percival. Percy was entirely black, so they made an exciting match. 

“Lorenzo, I hope you’ll understand Charlie owes me a race,” Max called to the man who was a few paces behind, attempting to get Emma, his horse, to do as he wanted. “You’re welcome to join us,” Max offered, and Charles almost laughed because it felt like a tease in itself. 

“No, no, whatever, your antics have bested me. Go on,” Lorenzo replied. Max looked over at Charles and grinned. “You know the rules, Charlotte,” Lorenzo conditioned, “and you better bring honor to our family and win!” Lorenzo yelled after them as they rode on ahead a little bit. 

“Here we are,” Max gestured at a path that led off the road. Specifically for horse riding, so it’d be perfect for a race. 

“Lorenzo will never find us here,” Charles commented, glancing down the path. 

“And it’s not too far, so we will be back at an appropriate time,” Max added. “Rules?” 

“No rules. Whoever makes it to the end first wins,” Charles proposed. Max agreed with a nod. 

“Would you like to bet anything on it?” Max asked. Charles shrugged. 

“Would you?” Charles countered, curious. 

“Here’s an idea: if I win, you have to ask Lord Alonso to dance with you next ball,” Charles grimaced at even the suggestion. 

“Oh, and if I win, you must write a horrible poem and have it published in the paper,” Charles suggested. 

“That’s awful. Maybe we shouldn’t,” Max decided. Percy whinnied. 

“You’re right. Percy’s desperate to get going,” Charles said. Riding was always lovely because Charles’s clothing was far less restrictive. The dress was only supported by a petticoat, no hope structuring he was forced to wear underneath. His corset was shorter and less tight. 

“Let’s go then, ready?” Max asked. Charles nodded. “Set?” Charles focused because, if he was being honest, he was desperate to win. “Go!” 

They took off down the path, and Max wasn’t wrong. It was pretty short, only a few minutes long. They were both so fast that Charles wasn’t sure for a moment who would win. 

At the end was a small abandoned fountain, and just as they approached it, Max pulled in front of him and won.

“Hah!” Max said, ecstatic. 

“I suppose you’ve bested me,” Charles murmured, still surprised at his own loss. 

“Like I said, always happy to be a first,” Max replied, smiling, and Charles remembered that it was all just for fun. “It was close. I think you certainly beat me, just this time it did not work out that way,” he was right. Either one of them could’ve won this. 

They dismounted, allowing their horses to eat some of the wild grass that lay around the fountain, and Charles walked up to it, glancing into it in thought. 

“Is your brother not intent on marrying?” Max asked, “I’d just think he’d be focused on his own marriage first, being Lord of the house now.” 

“Oh no, he’d much rather spend time with his actress,” Charles explained, “it’s too bad they can’t marry. He seems quite infatuated with her.”

“That’s quite scandalous, especially for your brother. He’d have never told me that,” Max commented. Charles nodded. 

“I’ve never quite understood why he goes there every other night; surely, he must grow tired of spending the day working and the night awake speaking to her,” Charles remarked. Max turned bright red and looked away from Charles quickly. “What?” Charles asked, confused. Max shook his head. “Max, you must tell me at once,” Charles demanded. 

“Um… Charles… well, they aren’t talking,” Max started.

“Then what have they been doing for all that time?” Charles questioned. 

“For some of it, they’re sleeping,” Max offered, hoping Charles would drop it. 

“And for the rest?” Charles insisted. 

“Do you know how babies are made?” Charles’s eyes widened. 

“What!?” he exclaimed, shocked, “you think they’re trying to have a child?!” 

“No, no,” Max said quickly. “Erm… I just meant, do you know the process?” 

“No, I know nothing. No one would ever tell me,” Charles said. It was true; he’d asked in the past and when the season started, but everyone declined to answer him, even his mother. 

“A man and a woman… come together in a way, in the way that you do when you… touch yourself, just a little different,” Charles said, narrowing his eyebrows.

“Touch myself?” Charles asked skeptically. 

“Come on, Charles, surely you’ve-” Max moved closer as he said. Charles shook his head. 

“You haven’t,” Max realized aloud. He paused for a second after he said it. 

“When you’re alone, in your room at night, you can… touch yourself, anywhere really that satisfies you but especially in between your legs. And…” Max paused, and Charles was suddenly incredibly aware of the intimacy of this moment. Max’s voice had lowered, and his eyes held Charles’s. 

“And if you discover a spot you particularly like, and you continue to do it, you’ll reach a sort of… climax,” Max stopped; Charles narrowed his eyebrows, uncertain. He’d said it with this odd tone of suggestiveness. 

“And what my brother and that woman do…” Charles trailed off, trying to find the words. 

“It’s… well, a natural continuation of that,” Max explained. 

“Oh,” Charles murmured. Their eyes were so deeply connected, faces so close together that for a moment, and only a moment, Charles thought that Max might lean the two centimeters down and-

Max turned and walked a few steps away. 

“Well, I hope I haven’t completely soiled your innocence, although I think everybody should be taught, especially people who will be married soon,” Max rambled. 

“No, you haven't; you've just spoken to me, man to man,” Charles assured him. Max smiled, “We’re good friends now, and you’ve done me a service by saving me from figuring it out some other way.” 

“Of course,” Max replied, mounting his horse. 

They trotted back to the opening, talking about things the whole way, finding Lorenzo a few meters away. 

That night, in the silence of his own room, Charles did as the man said. Then, he scared himself because he couldn’t stop thinking about how close they’d been the whole time. He promised himself he wouldn’t do it again, and if he were, he’d be sure not to think of Max. 

Charles quite liked the three other times he’d been allowed to ride with Max, so that wasn’t the problem at all, and neither was the… other thing because Charles didn’t do it again, even when he was tempted to. 

The man was everywhere; Charles felt as though they were practically attached at the hip. 

“You are a joy, Charles, but it has not been easy,” Max said about three-quarters of the way through the season on a walk. Charles agreed. He’d made a fine companion out of Max, but the whole facade, the lying, wasn’t easy.

Charles enjoyed moments like these the most as their chaperones generally gave them space to properly chat. 

“Since we have created this arrangement, I have always wondered what you plan to do when it is over,” Max admitted. “I intend to return to my country and nurture business there, so I won’t have to worry about all the attention, but you don’t have that luxury,” Charles pursed his lips, their arms interlocked. 

“I suppose I’ll find a husband,” Charles muttered, the reality of it all setting in again. 

“I’m sorry,” Max murmured. Charles shook his head quickly. 

“You have no reason to be sorry,” Charles replied. 

“You’re brilliant and talented, and you deserve a life lived as yourself, not confined as you are now,” Charles looked away because a flush painted his cheeks from the praise. 

“I have no choice,” Charles reminded him. 

“I know,” Max said, his emotions low.  “I’ll marry you then,” Max proposed, “take you to the Netherlands and set you free.” 

It was kind of him, but Charles could never accept it. 

“I could never do that to you. I could never stop you from finding a woman you love,” Charles reminded him. Max didn’t seem to care for a moment. “Regardless, I can’t be that far from my family,” in truth, Charles didn’t care about that at all. He was tired of his family. He only added it because, for a second, he believed Max and wanted to ensure the man didn’t force himself to marry someone he didn’t love out of sheer charity. 

Max made a little sound that was like a ‘hmph.’ 

“I am both doomed then,” Charles added, exacerbated. 

After a moment, Charles breathed in the air, fresh with the scent of flowers. Then he sighed. Max took a second to seem distant and unhappy, and then he perked up again. 

“I’ll race you to the post,” Max proposed. 

“In this dress?” Charles said, skeptical. 

“If I win, you have to ask Lord Vasseur to dance at the next ball,” there was no way in hell Charles would let that happen. Charles scoffed, “If you win, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“I can barely run like this, Max,” Charles protested.

“I’ll give you five seconds head start,” Max offered. Charles made a face as he considered it, and well, perhaps it would be adequate time. 

“Alright,” Charles agreed. Then, with no warning at all, he took off, moving as fast as he could. Charles held the dress up as he ran, cursing it. Five seconds was plenty enough, though. The distance was not far. When he arrived, his face was perfectly pink, and he was trying to catch his breath, which was challenging with the corset. Max was there a millisecond or two behind him, looking thoroughly at ease and unchallenged. 

“Are you alright, Charles? Why, you look as though-” Max started in a teasing and, well… somewhat suggestive tone, but he cut himself off. 

“I look as though what, your grace?” Charles emphasized the last part. 

“My apologies; you wouldn’t understand what I meant to say,” Max apologized. “Sometimes I’ve forgotten again how little they teach women about such matters,” he almost said to himself. Charles twitched. 

“I’m not a woman,” Charles murmured. Max caught himself. 

“No, of course not. Charles, that’s not what I meant to imply at all. From the moment we spoke that night, I’ve considered you just as much a man as myself. I only meant that because of how your family views you, you are unlikely to understand,” Max clarified. Charles looked at the ground. “I don’t even know why the thought came to my head,” Max attempted to dismiss it. 

In truth, for the last few weeks, Charles had been grappling with what it meant for them that he'd grown deeper feelings for the duke. He’d have to develop feelings for the man to make things worse on top of everything. Now, not only did he have to marry a man and be forced to act as a woman for the rest of his life, but he also had to watch Max find a woman he loved and marry her while he harbored hidden feelings. 

Perhaps in all of it, Charles had lost touch with the fact that what looked like feelings of passion and love was just an illusion.

Charles's newfound feelings for Max weren't the problem either. 

They'd argued. There was only one ball left in the season, which meant, according to the agreement, they would then be free of each other. 

The argument was a silly thing. 

It happened outside on another patio they weren’t supposed to be alone on. The loud music of a dance coated the background atmosphere, and a light chirping of insects played atop it. 

Charles glanced out into the grounds, adjusted the sleeve of his dress with a gloved hand, and said: 

“One more, and then you’re free of me,” he heard the noise of Max’s lips separating and then a moment of silence. 

“Don’t say such things. I’ve enjoyed your company,” Max settled next to him, placing his hands on the railing. “I think some of our moments together have been some of the best moments of my life,” he’d admitted. Charles had laughed. 

“I appreciate your charity, really,” Charles said flatly. “But it’s just charity. There's no need to try and make me feel better about myself,” to be truthful, Charles would’ve never said any of it if he hadn’t been thinking moments before about what his life would be like the following year. 

“Do you hear yourself? Have you not enjoyed our time together even in the slightest?” Max asked. 

“Of course I have. Perhaps I’ve enjoyed it too much, but you’re- you-” Charles cut himself off. “I’m merely saying it’s different for you,” Charles explained. 

“How?” Max questioned, “In what way is it different for me?” 

“You don’t have the same worries I do,” Charles quickly realized this was escalating. “You were rude to me at the first ball, and you felt bad when I told you the truth, and then we started all this nonsense,” Charles gestured around in the air. 

“This whole time, you’ve thought that?” Max asked unhappily. 

“Max, please, I made a mistake back then. I’ve only prolonged the inevitable and made it worse for myself by wasting your time and forming a one-sided attachment,” 

“Is it so impossible that in all this time I’ve grown to like you quite much, hell, that I’ve grown to l-” Max stopped abruptly. Charles glanced down at his hands, frustrated at the man’s insistence in this matter. “I should’ve…” Max started, “You should’ve never agreed to do this,” he murmured. Charles scoffed. 

“Well then, you best go tell my brother you’re sick of me so he can find me someone before this season ends, and I can get this over with,” Charles spat. Before Max could say another word, he turned and walked back inside. 

Charles had asked to leave after that, told Lorenzo he felt ghastly, and begged to go home. When Lorenzo agreed and they made it home, Charles curled up in bed that night and sobbed. He didn’t know why. He should be angry, if anything. He didn’t mean it, though. He didn’t want to be angry at Max. In reality, the man hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d just been bitter about the future. 

Although the argument did linger like a parasite in Charles's mind, it also wasn't the problem. 

They did not converse in the week following at all. Max didn’t show up, and they had no other organic meeting. Max still sent flowers, though, so Charles was confident that he had not spoken to Lorenzo. 

At the last ball of the season, the end of everything, Charles saw Max first. Stared for a moment before the man noticed him. Maybe it was embarrassment at their argument or nervousness, but Charles felt overcome with the need to run away. 

And he did. Out the back into the garden until the noise of the party was dull, and he could hear a frog croaking. Until hedges sat on both sides of him. He hadn’t run, just walked, but it felt like running away. 

He breathed deeply, restricted by the corset; he just wanted to get rid of the horrible thing. 

It was idiotic to act as though their friendship must disappear just because the deal was ending. Charles knew that. They could still write to one another quickly. Tears fell from his eyes into the grass. 

“Charles,” Max said. Charles turned with a start, not realizing he’d been followed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to anger you,” he apologized, walking toward Charles. 

What did he have to apologize for? He did nothing wrong. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Charles insisted, the tears still falling. “I have no reason to be angry with you,” Max smiled softly. 

“Good, then we’re all settled,” he murmured, close to Charles like he’d been only once at that fountain after their race. Then he reached up and brushed the tears off Charles’s cheek. 

Charles didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was all the emotions of the night. Perhaps it was the way the moon reflected in Max’s eyes or the tone of his voice. 

Regardless of why, Charles leaned forward and connected their lips. Max seemed to be surprised for a moment, and then he leaned into it, his hand finding the side of Charles’s face. He deepened the kiss, his tongue working its way into Charles's mouth. 

It was so strangely perfect like they’d been waiting all their lives to do this. Like the moment, right here under the moonlight, hidden away from the party by the dense sculpted shrubbery, could last forever. 

Charles let out a breathy little noise, and it was precisely that which snapped him back to reality. 

Charles pulled away quickly, taking a few steps back, fear covering his face. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said fast and panicked, “I must’ve… during our time, I’ve gotten the wrong feelings; I’ve been such a fool. I’ve known that you could never be with a… person like me. I’m sorry. It would be best if we didn’t see each other again. You should speak to Lorenzo and break this off immediately. You’re a wonderful man. I hope you can find a wife you love,” Charles continued, and when he finished, he looked at Max. 

The man was silent, his expression distant. 

Charles didn’t know how to respond, and he ran again like he’d done at the start, back to the dance. 

Charles wiped the tears from his eyes right before he entered the ballroom and found a bathroom immediately to wait the dreadful out. 

Even though the experience hurt, and the kiss was scandalous in the eyes of society, it wasn’t the problem either. Charles realized it would be the only time he’d ever kiss someone he’d come to love. 

Charles learned of the problem the following day. 

Charles spent five minutes after he woke up feeling bad for himself. Then, he dressed and headed to the living room, as he’d missed breakfast. 

Lorenzo looked… all too delighted. Charles supposed Lorenzo never liked his relationship with Max, so maybe he was happy to be rid of it. 

The man sat at the table eating a light breakfast, which meant he overslept. 

Charles was feeling glum. He didn’t want to read, or speak, or walk. He’d have liked to play the piano, but they’d sold theirs when his father died because it made his mother emotional. It was something he always wanted to do when he felt intense emotions. It was one of his true talents that he rarely spoke of. 

Lorenzo looked at him cheekily. 

“Why so down?” he asked. “Maybe it is because I was right,” Lorenzo proposed. Charles was about to snap at him and withheld. 

“For one day, will you let me simply be as I am? Can I be unhappy for one day?” Charles said dejectedly. 

“You don’t know,” Lorenzo commented, almost to himself. “You haven’t even heard me out, sister,” Charles knew he wasn’t going to get the option not to hear Lorenzo out, so he might as well just listen.

“Last night, Max and I had a conversation,” so this was about them breaking it off. Maybe Charles had missed a moment in which Lorenzo predicted their downfall. “And well, he asked for permission to marry you, and I said yes,” Lorenzo said. 

“I know Lorenzo, and it’s hurt me greatly-” Charles stopped, just registering what his brother had actually said. “What?!”

“Max asked for my permission to marry you, and I said yes,” Lorenzo repeated. 

Charles's mouth fell open in shock, and Lorenzo did not seem to notice. 

It was then that Charles learned of the problem. 

Although he'd been under the impression that Max was speaking to Lorenzo to break it off, it didn’t play out that way in the slightest. Instead, Max had asked Lorenzo's permission to marry Charles, and apparently, he had been unbelievably convincing, and Lorenzo had accepted. 

That definitely wasn't the plan, not even close. No, the intention had been until the end of the season. Marriage wasn’t the plan. But it seemed Max had taken matters into his own hands, and now...

"We have a wedding to plan! You are to be a duchess!" Charles's mother exclaimed, and she seemed so happy for the first time in a while, so Charles resigned to spare telling her the truth until after he spoke to Max.  

Charles was going to kill Max.

Except he didn’t get to speak to Max at all. Somehow, they’d managed to keep the two separate the whole time. Apparently, according to Lorenzo, Max had inquired about getting a license for it halfway through the season, so they had one and didn’t need to wait for approval. 

Charles started to get this sickening feeling that he’d been tricked. That maybe, this whole time, his brother and Max had been in kahoots this entire time and had just pulled the rug out from under him. That maybe when Max had heard Charles’s deepest secret at the first ball, he’d taken it as a challenge. 

The Max Charles knew wouldn’t do that. Surely not. 

In any case, there was nothing Charles could do. He just had to go along with it all. 

The wedding was brilliant, if anything. Charles felt nauseous. There were so many spectators. It was the first time he’d seen Max since that moment in the garden. Charles was so angry. 

When they kissed, sealing the deal, it was purely performative—nothing like the one they’d shared before. Charles’s mother cried happily, like this wasn’t some setup in which Charles had no say. 

And then, they were alone together in a carriage for the first time in ages. They sat in silence until the coachman said they were close. 

Charles started crying because there was just so much in his mind. 

“What have you done?” he murmured. “I can’t believe you’d do this. I thought, if anything, you were my friend,” he continued. “Was this all just a game to you? I thought you supported and saw me as what I truly am, but you deceived me. I… did Lorenzo put you up to this,” Charles accused. Max looked down at the floor, grim. “Tell me it’s not true, or I’ll hate you for this; I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate you now,” Charles insisted. 

“It’s not true,” Max said quietly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked,” he apologized. “I know you wanted to remain close to family, but selfishly, I can’t see you marry someone else and be forced to be something you’re not,” Max admitted. 

“Then I hate myself for forcing you into a loveless marriage,” Charles whispered, tears still falling. “I have done so many awful things to you, but this is the greatest of them all.” 

Right after he said it, they pulled to a stop, having arrived, and the coachman opened the door, and a messenger peaked in and said:

“Your grace, we must go immediately. There’s been a fire at Koningsstraat,” the man was frantic, and Charles realized this was incredibly important. 

“Charles, I’m so sorry, I need to go. Please, live how you would if you were entirely free to be yourself because you are now. We must speak when I see you next,” Max said quickly. “Promise me you’ll live however you want and that we’ll speak,” Max insisted. 

“I promise,” Charles said because now, in a way, he owed it to the man. 

That was that. 

Max went to the Netherlands, and Charles spent two weeks alone in the estate. Max’s staff were surprisingly understanding of Charles’s wishes. They were accepting, incredibly accepting of all of it. Charles wondered if Max had told them ahead of time. 

Charles realized that if he eventually joined Max in the Netherlands, he wouldn’t need to see his family. He’d write to them, claiming it was too inconvenient to come home. 

So, he did exactly as Max wanted. 

He started by burning the corset. It was actually amusing; some of the female staff watched it burn and laughed with him about it. They all called him Charles and treated him like the man he was. In the two weeks he spent at the estate, he felt more comfortable than he’d felt in his whole life because he was allowed to be Charles, not Charlotte, Charles. 

He got a haircut because he’d been wanting it so badly. It was far shorter than the long curls he had previously, the tendrils sitting softly on his forehead, the back right by his neck so short it was almost stubbly. He loved it. He’d never looked better. He’d never looked more like himself. 

His wardrobe changed too; at first, he was wearing Max’s things left behind because there was nothing else. Then, one of the male staff members went out and bought him some that would adequately fit. 

Charles had never imagined he’d be able to live like this like he wanted to. As the person he was. 

He felt selfish; he was reveling in this experience, but at the same time, he’d stolen something from Max. Love. He’d stolen Max’s chance at love. 

Charles loved Max. He’d known for a little while now, deep down. He pushed it there because he couldn’t cope with it. Now that he was certain Max accepted that Charles was a man and viewed him as one, Charles knew Max didn’t love him. Max didn’t love a man. 

At the end of the two weeks, Charles got in a carriage bound for a boat bound for the rest of Europe, and before he even realized it, he was stepping out onto the grounds of Max’s true home. 

He had no clue if the man was present. The situation sounded alarmingly severe. The staff member who greeted him there told him to wait and that they’d find Max for him. Charles didn’t listen. He wandered around the large building, examining his new home. 

It was amazingly furnished and decorated. Charles wondered if Max had an eye for these things that he kept concealed. 

Charles walked past various rooms until he found one that piqued his interest. 

It was a large open room, maybe fit for a ball, but it was entirely empty. The only thing that it contained was a beautiful-looking piano. 

Charles sat on the bench and pressed a few keys. It was pretty out of tune, but it was still a piano, and he itched to play something. 

He began something he’d written years ago before his father had died. His fingers danced along the keys; in a way, it was this sort of soft release he so greatly needed. He put everything into it: his love, his loss, his struggles, his identity, everything. 

When he finished, happy with himself, another presence was in the room.

“I didn’t know you played,” Max commented. Charles didn’t look at him, just gently closed the key lid, “There is no piano in your family home.” 

“It reminded my mother too much of my father. She got rid of it,” he explained. “Why do you have a piano if you don’t play?” 

“My sister was learning before she died,” he revealed. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles said quietly. 

“Don’t be; I’m glad someone will use it; I’ll call to have it tuned,” Max said; he’d come closer, and Charles moved over so he could also sit on the bench. “You look… radiant,” Max whispered. Charles couldn’t stop himself from flushing. 

“Max…” he lightly protested. 

“No, I mean it; I have never seen you look so comfortable and confident as you do now. It suits you perfectly. You’re beautiful,” Max insisted. Charles glanced away, “I’m overjoyed that you are free to live like this. Free to be who you actually are.” 

“At your expense,” Charles pointed out. Max sighed. 

“Charles, do you remember what I said to you when I proposed that agreement about why I wanted to do it?” Max asked. Charles didn’t see what he was talking about. 

Max had said he was overwhelmed by mothers and their eligible daughters trying to gain his attention. Charles remembered him saying that he didn’t want to marry. 

‘I don't want to marry because... well, it's no matter. I just don't want to marry.’

Why didn’t he want to marry? He’d never given a reason. Surely he'd have just said that if it was something like too busy with business. 

“Why didn’t you want to marry?” Charles asked, and he could tell that’s exactly what Max wanted him to respond with. 

"Your brother would’ve told you it's because I'm a rake," the man murmured, "but in truth, even that was a fraud, a cover-up to keep the truth hidden,” Charles narrowed his eyebrows. “In a way, it’s not the same, but, in a way, I have been trapped as you have; I am... not attracted to women," Charles's mouth fell open in surprise. 

"Meaning you're..." Charles trailed off.

"Attracted to men," Charles blinked. “So I saw this man, trapped in a way similar to my own, desperate to escape it but unable to, and I saw an opportunity to allow at least one of us our freedom,” Max explained. 

“Max-” 

“Let me finish, Charlie,” Max cut him off, “It just happened to be that in doing so, I fell in love with him along the way. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought that perhaps he’d fallen in love with me too, so I married him,” Max finished. Charles looked deep into his eyes and knew that he was saying nothing but the truth. 

“I’ve been so selfish not to think of how you felt,” Charles muttered. 

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Max said, and he connected their lips, his hand quickly finding the back of Charles’s head, fingers interlacing with his hair. Charles smiled in between as they stopped for air and then started once more desperate and overjoyed. 

It was so perfect, in a way that outshined the garden kiss. Charles never wanted the moment to end. In a way, it never did because his life was now this: a marriage in which he was free to be himself and to love and in which he was loved back. 

His problem, not a problem at all.