Most Ardently

by Gabe Cole Novoa

To my trans siblings: We deserve romances that will sweep us off our feet too. That’s why this book is for you.

bout to cry already 😭

For many of us, these are wounds that can be painful to revisit, so while I did my best to broach these difficult moments with empathy, you know what you can handle best.

Oliver’s jaw clenched at the grating sensation of hearing the name he’d outgrown long ago.

THIS RIGHT HERE

“Are you all right?” she asked softly. “I could tell Mama you aren’t well if you’d prefer to stay home. You could even go out on your own…” The suggestion blossomed inside him, filling him with hope, but Oliver crushed it before it grew large enough to hurt. He would go out on his own, in clothes that actually suited him, proudly bearing his true name … tomorrow. “The Bartholomew Fair,” he said softly. “I’ll go out then. Do you think you could…?” Jane smiled. “I’ll keep Mama busy. If the ball becomes too much tonight—” “I’ll let you know. Thank you, Jane.” She hugged him tightly and whispered, “Anything for my little brother.” Oliver closed his eyes, pressing his face into Jane’s shoulder as her words filled him with warmth and pulled the corners of his lips up. This was what he would hold on to tonight. This feeling. This rightness of hearing Jane call him her brother. One day, the rest of the world would know the truth too.

YET ANOTHER QUEEN SO SLAY

Fitzwilliam Darcy,

Of course, this now left Oliver in the awkward position of being alone with Mr. Harrison, who wanted to talk about embroidery, of all things. “It’s such a feminine art,” he was saying, “so simple, but it can be truly beautiful with a skilled hand. I envy the ability of a woman to create such delicate work. Are you quite skilled in embroidery, Miss Bennet?” Oliver pursed his lips at the address—and the implication that he would be skilled in a feminine art because Mr. Harrison mistook him for a woman—before forcing his shoulders to relax as he met Mr. Harrison’s gaze. “I can’t say I am. If you’ll excuse me.” Oliver didn’t wait for permission—or, more importantly, give him the opportunity to protest—before turning away and continuing along the perimeter of the room. He spotted Jane dancing with Bingley. She looked absolutely radiant, giggling shyly as they met in the center of the floor before separating again. Jane looked happy, and for the moment, that was enough. Oliver’s gaze wandered across the room. He found Bingley’s friend—Darcy, was it?—standing exactly where Bingley had left him when he went to ask Jane to dance. The two women had found dancing partners of their own, so there he stiffly stood, alone, his back to the green wall like it was his only protection. It was a sentiment Oliver could relate to.

Then Darcy was looking at him and Oliver froze. Everything in him demanded he look away before he was caught staring, but it was already too late, and Oliver found he couldn’t pull his gaze from him. There was something magnetic about Darcy’s dark eyes, about his slightly furrowed brow as the boy held eye contact with him. Oliver’s face warmed, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly the music of the room fell away. Though he was trapped like a moth pinned to a board, from that distance Oliver couldn’t quite make out the color of Darcy’s eyes. Green? Brown? Somewhere in between? Whatever the color, the boy’s eyes were pulling him in—until, all at once, they turned flinty. Darcy’s lips thinned, his brow furrowed more deeply, and something like disgust flashed over his handsome features. He shook his head and looked away.

So what if Darcy wasn’t interested in approaching him, or even looking at him for that matter? Neither was Oliver. He needn’t waste a second more of his time with a boy determined to be so miserable.

“Oliver.” Jane said it softly, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but it was enough. Hearing his name brought a flood of warmth, of rightness, and ridiculously, he found himself smiling at it, despite the dire situation.

Bingley went on, “Please, let me ask Jane to introduce you.” Jane squeezed Oliver’s hand, but before either of them could react further, Darcy turned around. And that is how Oliver found himself once again meeting Darcy’s stormy gaze, his heart thudding in his ears so loudly he was all but convinced Jane could hear it. Oliver found himself unable to breathe as the obvious annoyance washed over Darcy’s face. He knew at once that his instinct around Darcy’s dislike had been correct, and he felt utterly foolish for thinking even for an instant that the other boy was handsome. Darcy broke eye contact and, turning back to Bingley, said, “She’s tolerable, but not handsome enough to interest me.” If in that moment the ground had opened up beneath Oliver’s feet and swallowed him whole, it would have been a mercy. Instead, he was left feeling as though Darcy had dumped an entire tub of ice water on his head. Here he was, trying to be the good “daughter” everyone expected him to be, and for what? Insult upon insult. Thankfully, Jane was also appalled by the other boy’s lack of tact; this time, when Oliver turned to leave, she did not stop him.

To all the world, Charlotte and Lu were friends, but in reality they were much more than that. It hadn’t been long after Oliver entrusted Charlotte with the reality of who he was that Charlotte had shared a secret of her own with him—that she and Lu were lovers. Lu was a married woman, but being in the army, her husband was absent for months at a time, so Lu spent most of her days visiting with Charlotte. It had been the strangest relief to learn that Oliver’s closest friend was breaking convention in her own way. While it wasn’t the same as Oliver’s experience, of course (Charlotte and Lu enjoyed presenting themselves femininely, for one, and Oliver was exclusively attracted to other boys), the honesty between them still made Oliver feel a little less alone.

It was a special thing, to have one’s reflection in harmony with who they were.

The grin that spread over Oliver’s face was unstoppable. A lightness flooded his chest, and a giddying thought formed in his mind: I can do this. Neither Bingley nor Darcy had made the connection between him and the second-eldest Bennet they met last night. “I was just asking Oliver if he’d be amenable to showing us around the fair,” Bingley said to Darcy. “He’s attended every year since he was a child, so he’s quite familiar with the goings-on here.” He. Oliver couldn’t stop smiling. It was such a simple thing, but the rightness of it was a balm. Being recognized for who he was brought him a euphoria like nothing else he had ever experienced. You see me, he thought, and it made him so happy he wanted to laugh out loud. “That would be helpful,” Darcy said, his gaze settling on Oliver. “I’m shocked there isn’t a map readily available. This fair is much larger than I had anticipated.” “But only if it wouldn’t be a bother,” Bingley added quickly. “We’d completely understand if you weren’t able to show us around.” The redhead looked at Oliver pleadingly, a sheepish smile making him look even more boyish than usual. It was easy to see why Jane fancied him. “I can do it.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “It might be nice to enjoy the fair with some new companions.” Bingley clapped and grinned widely. “Perfect! Where to now?”

The performance was driving the gathered crowd wild, but neither Oliver nor Darcy joined them in the applause and cheering. The display was deeply uncomfortable to him, but Oliver wasn’t entirely sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of the bear in circus clothes, of all things, of the out-of-place-ness, the wrongness of it all, reverberated deeply. It was a familiar discomfort, like the way he felt every time he had to wear a dress. Like it was all just a performance, and not one he was particularly adept at. Just the thought of it brought a bone-deep exhaustion.

“Well, we’re in luck,” Bingley continued. “Finsbury Square is but a quarter hour’s walk from here.” Oliver’s eyes widened. Finsbury Square was where the Temple of Muses, a rather popular bookstore, was located. Oliver had never gone himself, but he’d meant to take a look sometime, even if he couldn’t afford to actually purchase anything. Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh really? We should head over, then.” He looked at Oliver. “Have you been to the Temple of Muses?” “I haven’t,” Oliver replied almost breathlessly. Darcy nodded. “You should join us. Their collection is quite impressive.” Oliver’s mouth nearly fell open in shock. Was Darcy actually inviting him to spend more time with them? Darcy had been so quiet all morning Oliver had assumed he wasn’t enjoying the company. But if he was inviting Oliver to join them, then maybe he’d misread the quiet boy. “I would love to,” Oliver said, and then the strangest thing happened. Darcy smiled. Just a little.

Oliver could see himself selecting a book, curling up in one of those chairs, and reading for hours. It was like something out of a fantasy. “I’m afraid you’ve done me a disservice,” Oliver said to Darcy. The other boy frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion before Oliver continued, “I’m never going to want to leave this place.” Darcy’s face softened into a smile that filled Oliver with warmth. Bingley laughed and Darcy’s gaze settled on Oliver, almost appraisingly, as he nodded. “It has that effect on me as well.”

Oliver arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t read it, but it does sound interesting.” Darcy nodded. “I thoroughly enjoyed it. Some of the depictions were … questionable, to say the least, but from a purely for-entertainment standpoint, I found it enjoyable. Do you like to read?” Just a few hours earlier, Oliver would have thought this conversation with Darcy—that they found a common point of interest between them—an impossibility. But it seemed the key to Darcy’s heart was books. Oliver could relate. “I do!” he said. “I’ll admit I haven’t had quite as much opportunity to read as I would like, but when I have a good book, there’s little that will tear me away from it.” “I’m the same way,” Darcy responded. “It’s truly a singular experience, being captivated by an excellent story.”

Darcy frowned, looking at him quizzically. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Apologies, I wasn’t trying to imply—I only meant that I hadn’t seen you there before.” Oh. Oliver’s shoulders relaxed, feeling a bit foolish. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes and it almost looked like—was he blushing now? He dropped his hand and opened his eyes. “I’m not … like Bingley. I’m not good at this.” He gestured airily between them. Oliver had to admit, this whole display was oddly endearing. He found himself smiling softly without meaning to. “This?” “Socializing. Meeting new people. It’s an art I’ve accepted I’ll likely never master. Oftentimes I don’t have to, as Bingley is skilled enough for the both of us, but when I’m left to interact with someone I don’t know, alone … well. They either bore me and I lack the ability and desire to pretend otherwise, or I inevitably make a fool of myself. I apologize.” Oliver’s smile grew. Bored Darcy might be an arse, but flustered Darcy was adorable. “Well, I suppose I’m happy to know I don’t bore you.” “Absolutely not,” Darcy said, so quickly that the simple reassurance filled Oliver’s chest with warmth. It was then that Bingley emerged from the Temple of Muses once more. “Apologies!” he said. “Did I miss anything?” “I was just inviting Oliver to join us at Watier’s,” Darcy said. Oliver’s eyes widened. He was? “Oh!” Bingley exclaimed. “Yes, of course! You must join us, Oliver. It’ll be a grand old time. What do you say?” Oliver’s...

OH YEA IM EATING THIS SHIT UPPPPPP

And anyway, Jane seemed to be quietly enjoying the excitement, even if she was far too cautious to declare a victory herself.

Mrs. Bennet sighed with unnecessary force. “I was just discussing with Jane how after she’s married, you should be next.” A full-body shudder of revulsion rolled through him, spreading from his stomach to his toes and the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t so much the thought of marriage itself that was so off-putting, just the role he was expected to play in one. He couldn’t be someone’s wife. It would kill him.

“Yes!” And this was where his excitement deflated to something like anxiety. His smile faltered and his gaze drifted to his lap. “I accepted, but … I’m not sure if it’s wise for me to go.” Jane tsked. “And why not?” Oliver looked at her with a frown. “You know why, Jane. If someone realizes who I am … Women aren’t permitted there.” “Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t a woman, then,” Jane said without missing a beat. “Oliver, I barely recognize you when you’re dressed in your proper clothes, and I’m your sister. You said Darcy was a different person in the company of men—well, you’re a different person when you’re permitted to be yourself. You’re so much more at ease, so much happier. It’s not just that your clothes have changed, your entire demeanor is more authentic.”

Oliver wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was true that the person he saw in the mirror was totally different when he wore men’s clothes, but there was always a part of his brain whispering that he was a fraud. That he would never be like Darcy, or Bingley, or any other person recognized as a boy at birth. There was always a fear that someone might notice the very slight bump of his chest beneath his binding cloth, or might think his hips too wide, or his voice too high, to truly be a man.

“Oh, did you?” Lu arched an eyebrow and smiled widely. “And how did that go?” “Surprisingly well, actually.” Lu grinned. “I hardly think that a surprise. You make quite the handsome young man, Oliver.” She winked at him, and Oliver’s face warmed as he bit back a smile. “Don’t you agree, Charlotte?” “Naturally,” Charlotte said.

Lu laughed, shaking her head. It was then that Oliver noticed Charlotte, who, contrary to expectations, didn’t look pleased. Her mouth was thin and unsmiling. A crease furrowed her brow, and for an uncomfortable moment neither of them said anything. This was a very different reaction from Lu, or when Oliver had shared the news with Jane. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her sudden change in mood. Lu seemed to notice it too, because as her gaze slid to Charlotte, her smile melted off her face like ice on a summer day. They were entering the more populous part of London now. Though the sounds of horse hooves on the packed road, squeaky carriage wheels, and conversation as people walked past them were impossible to escape, Charlotte’s silence felt like an absence of all sound. Like Oliver had fallen into a dream in which he couldn’t hear. Finally, Charlotte said carefully, “And … what did you say?” Oliver was no longer sure he wanted to have this conversation with Charlotte, but it was far too late to change course now. “Well, it would have been rude to refuse,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with more confidence than he had. “And anyway, Jane thinks I should go.” “I agree with Jane,” Lu said. “It’s an opportunity to get to know more boys your age. If you want to go, I think you should.” Charlotte’s lips became a flat line. Oliver bit his lip, forcing himself not to look at the disapproval clear on her face. The following silence made him want to squirm. Why was she actin...

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just concerned about your future.” “Try being concerned about me instead,” Oliver snapped. “I won’t submit myself to a life that would make me absolutely miserable, and you shouldn’t want me to.” Charlotte looked away, her face turning pink. She looked embarrassed. Good. “Perhaps,” Lu said after a long pause, “you’ll be able to find someone who you can be yourself with at home. Even if you have to pretend to be Elizabeth in certain public situations, perhaps you’ll find someone you can be a husband with in the privacy of your home.” The suggestion was better than the future Charlotte had been alluding to, but the thought of having to pretend to be someone’s wife, even in just “certain public situations,” twisted and soured in his stomach. He supposed he could survive it. But why should he have to compromise and settle for a future that was only half of what he wanted? Do you really think you’ll ever meet someone who will take you as a husband at all? Oliver clenched his jaw, forcing the thought out of his mind. But even as he silenced the doubt, it left behind a cold emptiness that made him feel like a cored apple.

Lu laughed, then leaned toward Oliver, lowering her voice. “That’s a Molly House. Specifically for younger people.” Oliver blinked, his gaze sliding back to Avery’s with interest. Molly Houses were a hush-hush part of society—one that the Bennets certainly didn’t speak of. They were places where men who were attracted to men, women who were attracted to women, people who weren’t either gender, and others of the like frequented. He’d even heard others like him occasionally attended—boys mistaken as girls and vice versa. Just the knowledge that there were others like him had been a balm even though he’d yet to step foot in a Molly House. But Oliver hadn’t realized there were any specifically meant for younger patrons.

The boy turned to Oliver, and up close, Oliver realized he was more man than boy—probably twenty or so, in contrast to Lydia’s fourteen years and Kitty’s fifteen. Something in the man’s gaze as he sized Oliver up made him shiver, and Oliver found himself wanting to look away from those piercing blue eyes, but he forced himself to meet them. “Hello,” the man said. “My name is Wickham.” When he was pretending to be a girl, Oliver despised introductions. It was difficult enough forcing himself to respond to a name that didn’t remotely suit him, but there was something uniquely painful about forcing that name off his own tongue. About denying who he was out loud, in words. It was a self-betrayal that cut deep. “Elizabeth Bennet,” Oliver forced himself to say, after Charlotte and Lu introduced themselves. “Pleasure to meet you.” “The pleasure is mine.” Wickham’s smile was the kind that made many weak at the knees. Oliver returned it with a polite smile of his own before turning to his sisters. “We really ought to return home,” he said, fully prepared for his siblings to protest, but to his shock—and deep suspicion—Lydia lit up at the mention of home instead. “Why, that’s perfect!” Lydia exclaimed. “Wickham here just told us he was walking in the same direction and offered to escort us home. He could join us!” “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Oliver said quickly, but Wickham cut in. “Nonsense! What caliber of gentleman would I be if I allowed five beautiful women to travel home wi...

Was this a bad idea? “It’s a lot to take in at first,” Darcy said beside him. Oliver startled, forgetting for a moment that Darcy was, indeed, with him. As was Bingley, but he was already wandering off toward the dining table, greeting some of the others with a wide smile. Darcy’s voice was strangely gentle. Oliver hadn’t heard this tenderness from him yet, and when he met Darcy’s gaze, the other boy smiled—just at the corners, just for a second. It was a nice smile. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea. For reasons he didn’t care to examine, meeting Darcy’s gaze was calming. Like the gentle push and pull of the tide, he felt himself slowly drifting out to sea, but it didn’t scare him as much as it should have. He wasn’t alone in this strange place. Bingley may have wandered off, but Darcy was here with him. With Darcy at his side, he could do this. “Frankly,” Oliver said, collecting his wits again, “I didn’t peg you for the type to enjoy such a rowdy atmosphere.” Darcy looked bashful, running his hand through his locks, mussing his hair in a way that was truly adorable. He nodded toward the dining table, beckoning him forward so they weren’t blocking the door. “You’re right, I’m not at all. To be honest, the first time Bingley brought me here, I loathed it so much I swore to never return.” “And yet you sought to invite me here yourself,” Oliver responded with a wry smile.

Darcy laughed, and Oliver was so shocked he couldn’t hide the surprise from his face. Darcy’s laugh was genuine; it rolled up Oliver’s spine and filled him with warmth. He couldn’t help but grin in return. “Well, I don’t still loathe it,” Darcy said. “It grew on me. I hope it will do the same for you.” “Be careful what you wish for,” Oliver said. “If I like it too much, I might want to come every week.” “Hopefully so,” Darcy said without missing a beat. Oliver’s face warmed. Was Darcy saying he wanted to spend more time with him? He looked at the taller boy carefully, taking in his wavy dark hair and sharp jawline. In contrast with the near chaos around them, he seemed so relaxed. Oliver didn’t have the chance to prod this line of conversation any further, however, because they’d reached the dining table. Darcy pulled a chair aside for him, and Oliver met his gaze with an arched eyebrow. Darcy’s face tinged pink, probably realizing that was more of an expected gesture for a woman, but he didn’t release the back of the chair until Oliver sat down. Darcy sat next to him, his face still a little red, but he was smiling softly, and Oliver was finding he really enjoyed Darcy’s smile. “Careful,” Oliver said softly, “if you’re too gentlemanlike, I might think you’re trying to court me.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Oliver could have kicked himself. What was he doing being so forward with Darcy? But he’d kept his tone light so Darcy could plausibly interpret his sta...

“Do you play Macau?” Darcy asked. Oliver smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid not.” But to Oliver’s surprise, Darcy said, “Oh good.” Oliver arched an eyebrow. “Is it?” “I’m afraid no one here actually wins at Macau. It’s an excellent game to play if you want to throw away your money, but it’s certainly not a lucrative hobby.” Oliver nodded, looking around the room with renewed interest. “Is that what everyone here is playing? Dozens of separate Macau games?” “Mostly, with some Loo and Whist undoubtedly thrown in there as well. Are you familiar with either of those?” Oliver bit his lip and leaned toward Darcy, heart pounding as he kept his voice steady, cool. “Can I share a secret with you?” he asked conspiratorially. Darcy’s eyebrow twitched and he leaned in, his face only inches from Oliver’s. “I can keep a secret.” “I don’t know how to play any card games at all.” Darcy’s brows rose into the soft fringe over his forehead, then his face split into a smile. “Can I share a secret with you as well?” Oliver blinked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play cards either.” Darcy laughed. “No, no, that’s not it.” “Go on, then.” Darcy’s grin slid into a sly smile. “I absolutely loathe card games.” Oliver laughed, a rush of relief washing over him like a cool rain in the dead of summer. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” “Perhaps you’ve picked up that I’m a rather discerning individual.” “Discerning, yes. I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Some might say choosy, perhaps.” “Is that so...

“Don’t you?” Oliver shook his head, pulling his gaze away from Darcy’s intense eyes. He spotted Bingley across the room—it wasn’t difficult, what with his eye-catching red hair—who seemed very focused on whatever card game he was playing. “I try to enjoy as much of the world as possible. Life is short—what better way to spend it than try to find amusement out of as much as possible?” “And do you succeed?” Oliver met Darcy’s questioning stare. His face was so soft, so drawn in; Darcy hadn’t looked away from him once. He seemed genuinely interested in Oliver’s response. The realization made his stomach flutter and brought a lightness to his bones. “Not always,” he admitted after a pause. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying.” “I think that’s admirable,” Darcy said. Then, for the first time since this conversation had started, Darcy pulled his gaze away and glanced over the room. All at once his shoulders stiffened, the calm in his face dissolving into a stormy expression worryingly close to fury. Frowning, Oliver followed his gaze to the eastern side of the room. Bingley was seated there playing Macau, but Oliver thought it unlikely that Bingley had caused Darcy’s sudden change in temperament. Just as he began to turn back to Darcy to ask him what was the matter, his gaze caught on a boy who was scowling back in their direction. Oliver’s breath caught in his chest—he knew that boy. His face was unmistakable—after all, it’d been just the day before that he’d met Wickham. Dar...

i’m giggling and kicking my feet bro

Oliver and Darcy strolled along the walking path into a public garden, so close their shoulders were almost touching. If Oliver swayed even a little to the left, he’d bump into Darcy’s arm. It was a temptation that was difficult to ignore.

“I enjoy walking here to think,” Darcy said. “Especially this time of night. It’s very soothing.” Oliver nodded, taking in the faint scent of greenery. It was hard to see in the dark, but he imagined there were likely not-yet-bloomed flower bushes mixed among the hedges. The cold night air stung his nose and cheeks, but he didn’t mind. “I enjoy going to Westminster Bridge for that purpose,” Oliver said. “I’ll lean against the rail and stare across the Thames. It helps clear my head, especially when I need some time alone.” Darcy nodded. “Is it difficult for you to find solitude at home?” Oliver laughed lightly. “Well, I have four siblings who all live at home with our parents, so yes, you could say that.” Darcy arched an eyebrow. “Four siblings! I can only imagine.” “Do you have any siblings?” “Just one, my younger sister, Georgiana.” He paused, then added, “Our parents passed on two years ago.” Oliver frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Thank you. I was still too young to officially take on the role of head of household at the time, so until I turned eighteen the two of us lived with our aunt. Now Georgiana and I primarily reside at our family estate, Pemberly, though she sometimes opts to stay with our aunt while I’m away.” “So it’s likely not necessary for you to leave home to find some quiet, then,” Oliver said with a wry smile. “No,” Darcy agreed, smiling softly. After some quiet, he added, “I’m glad to have met you, Oliver.” Oliver blinked at him with a slight laugh....

Oddly, his father actually chuckled. “While I admire your athleticism, you might find my office window easier to climb into.” There was no way around this. He was trembling so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t slipped again. Slowly, he lowered himself to the open window, swung his legs inside, and landed softly on a large rug. His pulse was a roar in his ears. There he was, standing in his father’s office, with Mr. Bennet himself, dressed from head to toe in menswear. He might just pass out from anxiety. Or vomit. Behind him, Mr. Bennet closed the window with a squeak-scrape. Oliver stood absolutely frozen as his father stepped around him, looking him over with an appraising eye. Finally, his gaze met Oliver’s and the most unexpected thing happened. Mr. Bennet smiled. “Well,” he said. “This is quite the surprise.” Oliver opened his mouth, ready to say that he could explain, but … could he? There was no excuse that he could come up with fast enough to explain why Mr. Bennet’s second-eldest child had snuck out in the middle of the night dressed as a boy. And in any case, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to lie. At least, not to his father. Which meant there was nothing left but the truth. The reality of the situation made Oliver hot and cold all over. His underarms were instantly damp, his palms clammy. So then, this was it. Time to tell his father the truth. But even as Oliver tried to muster up the courage to speak, fear choked out his voice. “I must say,” Mr. Bennet said, his ...

His day dress was simple, deep blue, and felt light on his body in contrast to the usual bodices and constricting clothes he ordinarily wore. It made the clothing slightly less suffocating, slightly easier to ignore. But it also meant he felt the movement of his chest as he walked, which was excruciatingly difficult to overlook. How much simpler and more comfortable it would be, he thought, if my chest had remained flat. It was a reality that he could, unfortunately, do little about, but that didn’t stop the yearning for his body to change.

It came as a shock to absolutely no one when a messenger arrived hours later, carrying a letter from the Bingleys. Mrs. Bennet accepted the note with much enthusiasm and turned to Oliver—who was sitting in a reading chair nearby, book open in his lap—with a victorious smile. “You see?” she said. “It’s from the Bingleys!” Oliver didn’t respond. Mrs. Bennet slid her finger beneath the wax seal and hastily opened the letter. After a moment she gave a triumphant shout and exclaimed, “Jane is ill!” Oliver slowly closed his book, meeting his mother’s excitement with a dead-eyed stare. “Strange for a mother to celebrate her child’s misfortune, don’t you think?”

she needs to be jailed

As Oliver’s laced half boot sank an inch into slick, cold mud for the umpteenth time, he swore at the heavens above and hells below.

Though Oliver had fully expected Darcy to immediately refuse, instead, he paused and looked at Oliver. Panic flared hot and fast in Oliver’s chest as he met Darcy’s gaze. He and Darcy had stared into each other’s eyes just a few nights back. Would Darcy recognize him if he looked closely enough? “I might not mind that,” Darcy said, to Oliver’s utter astonishment.

Oliver began to wonder if Caroline had ever read a book at all. If her aim was to get Darcy’s attention, however, not even that declaration worked. He continued writing, not glancing up or even pausing once. Oliver almost wanted to laugh. Caroline was frowning at Darcy, and he was none the wiser. Suddenly, she stood and began strolling around the room. “I do enjoy walking,” she said loudly. “It’s so wonderful to stretch one’s legs and take in the brisk air.” Oliver wasn’t sure what brisk air she was experiencing in this large room without a single open window, but he didn’t comment.

Oliver jumped, the sound of that name so grating on Caroline’s lips that she might as well have raked her nails down his back. He looked up warily from his book, regretting doing so the moment he met Caroline’s gaze. “You must walk with me! Come, join me.” Oliver cringed. “Oh, I think I better not. I—” “Nonsense! Walking is really so important, we mustn’t allow ourselves to sit all day. Join me.” It was more of a command than a request, but when no one else spoke up to save him, he reluctantly closed his book and stood. As he did, Darcy glanced up, something like curiosity in his gaze as he met Oliver’s eyes. Don’t look too closely, he begged, and ripped his gaze away, forcing himself to smile at Caroline. It felt like trying to stretch a stiff, unused muscle.

Together, they walked around the room in slow circles, floorboards creaking beneath them.

around the room-

“What are you doing?” Darcy asked. This seemed to delight Caroline. She giggled and shot him a buoyant smile. “Why, we’re taking a walk, of course.” “Around the room?” “Indeed.” “Why would you circle the room? It can’t possibly be that entertaining to endlessly walk the perimeter of a room you’ve been in dozens of times.” Oliver couldn’t help but agree. Still, he pretended he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation awkwardly being had over him, allowing his gaze to wander around the room instead, catching the sheen stripes of the decorated walls. “It’s a simple pleasure for simple ladies,” Caroline responded. Oliver couldn’t stop the look of revulsion that washed over his face. Even if he was a woman, he would never describe himself as a “simple lady.” Was this really Caroline’s best attempt at flirting? Darcy leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Is that truly why you’ve started this? Or have you convinced Elizabeth to take a walk around the room with you to catch my attention?” Caroline gasped in mock offense. “Mr. Darcy!” “That wasn’t a no.” Beside him, she giggled again. “I couldn’t say. Is it working?”

DARCY IS A KING 😭😭😭😭

The two laughed, and the ease of their joy should have made him happy—and it did. But it also hit him in the stomach with an ugly pang. Because the truth was, he wanted that easy camaraderie. He wanted to be able to court someone without fearing how they might react if they knew the full truth about him. He wanted an openness with someone without fear, without worry. He wanted that ease, but it all seemed impossible. What were the odds, truly, that he would ever find someone who knew how to love someone like him? The truth was he didn’t know. And the not knowing hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Oliver ripped his gaze away from the other boy. He wasn’t here for Darcy. And Bingley wasn’t here either. With a sigh, he turned on his heel. He’d just faced the door to leave when a voice stopped him. “Can I help you, Miss Bennet?” Oliver closed his eyes. That address coming from Darcy felt like taking a boot to the stomach. It wasn’t that he hadn’t grown accustomed to being referred to as Miss Bennet, but it felt different now—worse somehow—coming from Darcy after hearing him use Oliver’s true name. Worse still that it had been days since he’d been able to be himself. With every passing moment performing as Elizabeth, it became more difficult to breathe.

“Just a moment, dear. I’d like to hear all about your visit. Was Jane able to spend some time with Mr. Bingley?” Oliver bit his lip and lowered both trunks to the floor before his arms began to ache. “Some. She spent most of the visit resting, but Mr. Bingley did check on her frequently.” “Good! Oh, that is excellent news. And what about you? Did you learn anything from the Bingley sisters?” Oliver blinked. “Pardon?” “The Bingley sisters are two very beautiful, feminine women. I thought it might be educational for you to spend some time with two proper ladies, given your proclivities.” Oliver’s heart pounded so hard his chest hurt, heat creeping up his neck. Mrs. Bennet didn’t know that he went out dressed as a boy—there wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in summer that she wouldn’t have blown up immediately the moment she learned the truth. So if she didn’t know that he preferred to dress as a boy—that he was a boy—then what on earth was she referring to? “I don’t understand,” Oliver said carefully. “What ‘proclivities,’ exactly?” Mrs. Bennet let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, Elizabeth, did you really think your own mother wouldn’t notice how much you detest your most beautiful dresses? Or how miserably you hold yourself when you’re expected to dance with a gentleman? Not to mention the way you cringe at the merest mention of a suitor—” “All right,” Oliver interrupted. “I understand your meaning. But, Mama, none of that is novel. I’ve always disliked those things.” “Precis...

Oliver, meanwhile, hadn’t had the opportunity even once since returning from Netherfield to go out on his own. It left him feeling like an animal with a foot snagged in a trap, the teeth of his mother’s expectations sinking deeper into him every time he struggled.

“You have such beautiful childbearing hips,”

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

He stepped toward his new partner and, with a start, found Darcy moving toward him. They met with their palms not quite touching and circled each other as Oliver’s heart thrummed in his chest. “Good evening, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said neutrally. Oliver swallowed hard. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy.” “Enjoying yourself?” “I’m not sure I’d say that.” Unexpectedly, Darcy smiled, just slightly, and Oliver found himself smiling softly in return. “Your partner seems to be rather chatty.” “An apt observation. Thankfully he seems to be the variety of chatty that only wants to hear himself speak.” Darcy arched an eyebrow. “That’s a good thing?” “It is when I have absolutely no interest in speaking to him.” “Ah.” Darcy’s smile grew. “Well, I hope that’s not the case with me.” He … did? Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of this change in demeanor. Every other time he’d interacted with Darcy dressed as a girl, he would have found a block of ice a warmer companion. But here Darcy seemed … almost pleasant? “If you enjoy the discussion rather than the sound of your own voice, you’re already a step ahead of my dancing partner,” Oliver said.

Oliver let his gaze drift, catching the swish of Darcy’s tailcoats, the twist of his polished shoes as he turned, the cut of his dark trousers and well-fitting double-breasted outer coat. Darcy’s clothes were tailored at the waist and shoulders, accentuating his enviable Y shape of broad shoulders and narrow waist, but the star piece was very clearly the coat. Goodness, that coat was beautiful—unlike many of the black coats in the room, Darcy’s was a deep navy blue with a black velvet contrasting collar and sleeve cuffs. The buttons were silver and popped against the deep tones of the fabric. Oliver wanted one of his own immediately.

“Quite certain,” Oliver responded firmly. “I assure you, there’s no need for concern.” “I’m glad to hear it,” Wickham said. “In that case, as your last dancing partner didn’t injure you too grievously, would you do me the honor of a dance? I promise I won’t step on your toes.” Wickham smiled in a way he probably thought charming. It might have worked, if the manipulation weren’t so obvious—and if Oliver hadn’t already had an unpleasant interaction with him. But what was he supposed to say? He couldn’t very well feign injury now that he’d assured Wickham twice that he was fine. Wickham had artfully backed him into a corner—and he knew it. Not trusting himself to keep the irritation out of his voice, Oliver took his hand wordlessly and stood. Which was how he again found himself in the unenviable position of dancing with a boy he had no interest in dancing with. “You are so beautiful,” Wickham said as he twirled with Oliver on the dance floor. “I think it’s quite clear you’ll make a very handsome wife for an exceedingly fortunate man one day. Perhaps even soon!” Oliver balked at that. “Soon? I should hope not. I certainly haven’t met anyone who I’d like to make my husband.” Wickham smiled slyly. “Perhaps you have and you just don’t realize it yet.” Maybe if Oliver hadn’t spent all his patience on Collins he would’ve been able to stop the distaste that showed clear on his face at Wickham’s implication. As it was, he looked at the other boy like a jar of milk left out in the s...