London, England - August 1920
The heels of Henry's black leather dress shoes clicked against the wet pavement as he walked down Regent Street. His gaze latently fixated upon the glistening wet pavement ahead as the gas lamps that lined the street seemed to give it an almost sparkling illusion. He travelled alone, though the sounds of motors whizzing past and the distant chattering of ladies and gents as they made their merry way made him seem less alone; less anxious, even as he trekked along through the dreary and drizzly London autumn night.
For the young and dashing twenty-seven year old Lord Henry Aldringham, the world was quite literally resting entirely in his palm. Born the younger son of Richard Aldringham, 11th Duke of Hertford and the Lady Alice Dunmurry, the daughter of the Duke of Ulster and cousin to King George V; Henry Aldringham spent his entire upbringing surrounded by luxury, power, influence and privilege. He attended the most elite all-boys public boarding schools that the country had to offer, spent most of his holidays in the family's country estate in Hertfordshire, Aldringham Manor, and the summer season in Aldringham House; the family's London home in Knightsbridge. And though Henry seemed like every other handsome young man born into the English aristocracy, his life was quite contrary to conventionality.
Unlike his brothers Lord Edward, Viscount Hillingdon and the Lord Matthew, Marquis of Argyle who had both chosen to read Law at Cambridge just as their father had as well as many patriarchs before them; Henry chose to go to Oxford to read Medicine, something his father found to be a terribly inappropriate choice of occupation for the youngest son of a Duke. Nonetheless Henry persevered and completed his medical degree and went on to serve King and Country as a Royal Medical Army Corp medic in France during the Great War. Now at twenty seven, Henry found himself happy as can be, working as a general practitioner at the Kensington Infirmary not far from his family's London home in Knightsbridge.
Whilst the Duke and Duchess rather preferred to stay in their stately home, Aldringham Manor; Henry, his older brothers and his younger sister, Lady Georgina far preferred life in the city to the country. Unfortunately for Georgina and Edward, Aldringham Manor was where life seemed to always want them; Edward helping his dear Papa with the running of the estate while the wretched sixteen year old Georgina was forcibly kept at home to keep her Mama company and take history, French, and etiquette lessons under the watchful eye of her Bavarian governess whom she detested; though for whatever reason she absolutely adored young Lord Henry.
But Henry seemed to have that effect on people; charming anyone and everyone he'd meet. Some credited his sharp wit and humour, while others chalked it up to his handsome face, perfectly styled pin-straight dark brown, nearly black hair, flawless alabaster skin, and mysteriously alluring sapphire blue eyes. He had this way of smiling that enchanted everyone who witnessed it; an attractive lad in both beauty, brains, and charm.
But what most didn't realise is that the handsome, suave, and often intoxicatingly charming young Lord Henry Aldringham, had a deep dark secret that nobody could ever know about. In 1920s Great Britain, much like the rest British Empire as well as the world, men like Henry, whom were then referred to as 'confirmed bachelors', 'fairies', 'queers' and by other terms assigned to men who loved men, lived predominately in the shadows. And what more could be expected of them, when their sexual orientation and love was seen as 'unnatural', 'deviant', and very much 'illegal'.
There were few countries where homosexual relations had been decriminalised at the time, but unfortunately for Henry and men like him across the British Empire, homosexuality was a criminal offence under the British Penal code. And whilst men like Henry lived their lives in the shadows, it didn't go to say that in those back alley pubs and discrete corners of restaurants, gay men of the times didn't crack on living their lives. Nonetheless there always was the looming threat that they could indeed face prison time, on top of forced castration and not to mention the social ramifications of being labelled as a 'pervert' or 'sexual deviant'.
It is this social and legal risk-taking that shaped men like Henry Aldringham, who risked it all for a chance at feeling 'normal' in a time when attitudes towards homosexuality were hostile, to say the least. At a time when the very insinuation that a man might be a 'queer' or a 'fairy' was enough to ruin his reputation; something that was held to great esteem at the time. Nonetheless, the young handsome aristocrat often threw caution to the wind; risking his family's reputation, his father's political standing as a Peer in the House of Lords, and the very gilded honour of generations of Dukes of Hertford who could trace their line back to the Norman Conquest.
However in heartbreaking contrast to the daring young Henry, there were indeed a multitude of men who crumbled and withered under the societal pressures of a very homophobic society of the time. They often forced these attractions that were inaccurately labelled as 'perversions' or 'sexually deviant activities' into the darkest, deepest recesses of their mind; often times forcing themselves into marriages with women, having children and living their lives as 'normally' as was seen in the times. Others partook in the dark world of 'treatments' that were likewise inaccurately deemed to 'cure' homosexual thoughts and temptations; a stomach churning world of chemical treatments, shock therapies, and other forms of 'remedies' that attempted and ultimately failed to do the impossible. Sexuality can be repressed, but not changed; nothing in this world can change how one is born.
Henry glanced around inconspicuously before slipping into a familiar dark alleyway. Whilst in London, Henry loved spending nights at some of the pubs and restaurants with his mates. In the 1920s, gay men who sought the company of other gay men often required a mix of intuition and a whole lot of guts; going to public cruising spots like public toilets, parks, bathhouse, pubs and gentleman's clubs all the while hoping that law enforcement wouldn't take notice. Some pubs and restaurants were even known within the community to have specific unspoken corners where gay men where known to congregate. But it all this came with their own risks; reading the wrong signs or body language can land someone in a whole heap of trouble. Secrecy and discretion were of the utmost importance.
Craning his head one more time for good measure to insure he wasn't being watched or followed, he descended down a dark staircase into a rather grim looking basement off of Regent Street that housed an underground pub that catered to men like Henry; covertly tucked away in the basement of an old building, unsuspectingly under a chartered accountant's office and a corner shop.
As Henry got to the bottom of the stairs he stood in front of the old oaken door and knocked the customary secret code, the sliding slot on the door opening as a ray of light shone through and illuminated Henry's handsome face. There was a young lad on the other side of the door who's glanced through the opening, giving Henry a solemn nod as he immediately recognised him and opened it for the handsome young man to slip through.
"Trust you're having a good night, Lord Henry." Said the handsome red-headed young Irish doorman Pádraig as Henry entered through the door; greeted by the pleasant commotion of men laughing, chattering, and even dancing together whilst the crackling old gramophone in the corner played the latest popular hits from across the pond.
"Not bad, and yourself, Paddy?" Henry flirted harmlessly as the handsome young man with his young Irishman smiled bashfully back at him at him. Pádraig was a kind-hearted twenty year old who had moved recently from Dun Laoghaire in search for a better life in Great Britain and Henry truly admired the courage that came with that.
This was one of the reasons Henry adored London as the diverse metropolitan megalopolis it was; where people from all over and all walks of life seemed to gravitate to work, study, and live. Not only were there people from all over Great Britain, but also Ireland, continental Europe and even small communities of migrants from all over the Empire; It was like a culturally rich microcosm of the country, Empire, and world, and Henry absolutely loved it.
Henry winked with a smirk as he slipped off his navy blue overcoat, handed them to Pádraig before continuing on into the dimly lit room. In the far corner of the pub he spotted his two best friend, James and Charles chatting by the bar and drinking a pint of lager. Henry smirked as he stalked up to the men, passing by dozens of others who all seemed to stare and smirk at him as the gorgeous and confident young man strutted past. Henry ran his hand through his raven black hair feeling all the more powerful in that moment; he knew could have had his pick of men in this pub, but he certainly wasn't going to give anyone an easy pass to having their way with him.
Engaging in sexual dalliances with other men during this era was difficult; the recent changes to the British Criminal Codes changed the hedonistic Tudor 'buggery' laws that required proof of physical 'sodomy' for two men to be sentenced to death. Fortunately and unfortunately for Henry and his fellow 'confirmed bachelors', the laws no longer called for death, rather settling for the 'oh-so-liberal' 'life imprisonment' yet forwent the necessity for proof of sodomy; meaning that rather than criminalising the act of homosexuality, being homosexual itself was criminalised.
"Henry ol' chap!" James turned and smiled at his friend, taking a sip of his pint as Henry pulled the barstool out and sat himself down. "There you are, I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up."
"Terribly sorry I'm late, I was having dinner at the Ritz with Cal and Reza and the time seemed to pass so quickly. Before I knew it half nine." Apologised Henry profusely since dinner with his cousin Lord Callum of Ulster and best friend Prince Reza of Iran, a dear childhood family friend who's father was an old schoolmate of Henry's Papa. Callum was Henry's favourite cousin and with that came the trust that Henry placed in him as the sole family member who knew his secret.
Henry slipped into the barstool next to the two handsome lads who had been his best friends since boarding school in Scotland; James with his friendly blue eyes, lightly pink skin and effortlessly messy blond hair and Charles with his mysterious dark eyes, skin like ivory and wavy light brown hair. They were both the sons of English Earls, so naturally they understood Henry's plight greatly, considering they'd all had similar upbringings paired with the harsh reality they were all attracted to other men.
"We were beginning to think you wouldn't show up at all." Charles cocked an eyebrow snarkily as James drunkenly slung his arm over the pretty dark haired boy's slender shoulder.
Charles and James were some of the few select people who knew Henry's truth and as well, they were the first people he'd experimented with intimately whilst at boarding school and it started a lifelong secret bond that went on for years. Both Charles and James worked for the Foreign Office in Whitehall, sharing a flat in Westminster and posing as 'dear friends' to the world; though Henry and very few others knew the real truth about them, they were lovers.
"How could I miss it!" Henry said matter of factly, raising his hand to hail over the barman "My usual, Raj." He said with a wink before turning back towards James. "It's our last night together, after all, before this one here goes to off to India." He teased, nudging James in the side playfully. "Honestly I can't say I envy you. My Uncle Archie is a Colonial Officer over there in Lahore, and he writes that it's an absolutely beautiful country with lovely people and delicious food; but the summers are absolutely ghastly. Even Grandpapa would go on and on about the mosquitoes alone!" Henry's family were rather influential and he had many family connections in high places throughout; his maternal great-grandmother was Queen Victoria, his paternal great-grandfather a former Viceroy of India, and not to mention loads of cousins and relatives in high administrative positions throughout the colonies.
"Henry Peter Aldringham, I do hope you're not trying to convince me not to go?" James glared at Henry with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Depends. Is it working?" Smirked Henry as he glanced up to see Charles glancing down melancholically at the bubbles rising in his pint glass. Henry watched as the barman set a gin and tonic down in front of him, nodding in gratitude and winking at handsome young man behind the bar.
"I propose a toast." Henry smirked rather coquettishly, though to those who knew he they'd recognise it as simply how he was. "To His Majesty. Long may he reign. To you, James. May you have a safe a passage to India, and may you find it lovely enough to not be miserable but just uncomfortable enough to return home to us before long."
"And to us, may we all remain the best of friends no matter where in the world life may take us." Added James as he raised his glass in the air, earning him a warm smile from Henry.. "Good Health."
"Good Health." Henry he raised his glass towards his mates before they each took a hearty swig. James was all smiles and excitement as he downed the remaining bit of his pint, though Charles on the other hand looked rather like a jilted bride left alone and heartbroken at the alter; And this certainly hasn't gone unnoticed to the sharp and ever-attentive young Henry. "Say Charles, fancy a dance?"
"Oh erm..." Charles glanced up and blinked away his confusion. "I, er..." He glanced between the suave dark haired lad and James' loving smile.
"Go on then." James winked at him lovingly, giving Charles an assuring rub on the back as Henry hopped up from the barstool he'd been sitting at and slipped off his obsidian silk dinner jacket.
"Come on, you. Let's dance." Henry smirked, extending his hand out towards the skittish young chestnut haired man as he stood up and flashed James a knowing look.
"I'll be expecting him back, so don't seduce him." Joked James as Henry fake pouted at him.
"Can't make any promises. You know how terribly irresistible I am." Henry teased sultrily as he playfully pulled Charles onto the dance floor, placing his hand on his waist as the music continued playing over the gramophone. "You're going to miss him aren't you..." He asked as they began to sway to the music.
"God, Harry..." Charles sighed defeatedly, his mysterious dark brown eyes washing over with deep sadness. "He promises he'll still write letters and send telegrams, but it's just so far away... I'll miss him terribly."
"Could't you apply for a position in India? I hear colonial life is lovely, really; a nice bungalow with servants and cooks." Suggested Henry seriously, earning him a knowing glare from Charles. "Besides, the warm climate might do you some good!"
"I reckon it might could, but my whole life is here, Harry. My family, my mates." Charles pursed his lips in deep thought. "At the end of the day, he's nobody to me. Here we tell people we're 'friends' and 'flatmates' but how would that work over there?"
"Have a bit of faith, Charlie." Henry smiled supportively down at the brown haired man. "It's a temporary position, he'll be back home before long... Back to you..."
"Back to me." Scoffed Charlie, his voice cracking heart-wrenchingly. "But for how long, Harry? A few more years at the most. He's a manly man, one day he'll marry a nice girl and I'll simply be a phase in his life or even his dirty little secret he carries on with whilst his wife and children are asleep at home. I don't think I have the strength for that, Harry."
"Charlie I er..." Henry fumbled with his words, feeling the anxiety build as his hands clammed up trying to think of what exactly to say in response to that; but this thought process was entirely derailed as he felt a tap on his shoulder. And thankfully so, he honestly hadn't a clue how to even address where Charles had taken the conversation.
"Hello." Henry turned as he heard a smooth voice beckon form the side; feeling his breath hitch in the back of his throat as he caught glimpse of perhaps the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He had a deep olive tan, dark gorgeous eyebrows paired with deep eyes and perfectly styled black hair; like a bronzed Mediterranean god. "Terribly sorry to interrupt, but may I cut in?" He addressed Charles, asking to dance with Henry; speaking with a very suave, smooth Italian accent.
"Of course." Charles nodded as he met eyes with a cool and collected looking Henry who was likely internally doing a jig. "He's all yours."
"Thank you." The man nodded politely, smiling towards Henry as he snaked his arm around his waist and pulled him close as he took Henry's other hand in his own. "I hope you'll forgive me for me being so forward. It seemed as though you both were discussing something rather important, but I simply couldn't help myself. You're the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen..." He whispered huskily into Henry's ear, sending chills down his spine.
"No harm, no foul." Smirked Henry confidently as a smile tugged on the corners of his pouty pink lips. "You're rather handsome yourself."
"Why thank you, beautiful." The man said suavely, his deep brown eyes darkened with a look Henry knew all too well; lust. "I'm Pietro."
"Henry." Henry gave the man a charming smile paired with a cordial nod of the head. "How d'you do?"
"The pleasure is all mine." Pietro said placing a chaste kiss Henry's hand, nearly making the handsome dark haired boy blush at the gorgeous mediterranean god whose arms he was securely being engulfed in; but the poised young Lord Henry never blushed. He always played the game of attraction with a placid confidence, never letting his true feelings show on the surface. Pietro wasn't the only man to ever try to woo Henry, like him there were many who wished to bed him, but to Henry this was mostly like a game of sorts and very rarely did he give any of the players a trophy.
"Are you new to London?" Asked Henry, knowing full well the man's attractive accent and suave Southern European demeanour gave him away as being a new import from the Continent.
"Is it that obvious?" The man chuckled flirtatiously, smirking as he locked eyes with Henry, their lips dangerously close yet heartbreakingly far. "I'm an envoy for the Italian Embassy here in London. It's my third week on the job."
"Crikey, that sounds jolly important." Henry cocked an eyebrow at the handsome man. "Well congratulations on your posting. I trust you are enjoying London thus far?"
"A bit damp... And... come si dice...(How do you say...) Dreary..." Drawled Pietro honestly, prompting the pretty raven haired boy in his arms to chuckle softly.
"Complaining about the weather already, are we? Heavens, you're clearly becoming English by the day!" Henry teased in jest, glancing up towards the handsome dark haired man, immediately noting how close his gorgeously chiseled face was. "Well, you're quite right about that, the weather can be terribly abysmal on this little island of ours, and I dare say you might find it socially a bit stuffy and uptight for your more exotic foreign liking."
"Oh? How do you mean?" Pietro smirked with a teasingly cocked brow.
"Well, I'm afraid we can be terribly reserved, we English." Explained Henry candidly. "We prefer to maintain a stiff upper lip rather than vulgar displays of emotions and we tend to value politeness over directness. I rather admire foreigners in that regard; most aren't afraid to show emotions, to be loud and passionate about something they care about, to laugh without hesitation if they're happy, cry and wail to show they're sad or upset, to be unapologetically rude when they see fit, though I daresay some might call it 'straight-forwardness'. I personally find it to be rather a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling, cold, overly polite and proper upper class English social circles I grew up in; at times it feels as though we English suffer from emotional congestion whilst foreigners are often so free and open about their feelings." He rolled his eyes with a sigh; Henry often felt the sensation of being trapped by his life as a privileged English aristocrat, longing for a life that was different form the one he'd been reared in.
"On the contrary, I personally admire you English for your politeness. I stepped on a man's shoe by accident earlier this evening and he apologised to me!" Pietro chuckled softly, his breath lightly tickling Henry's lightly moistened lips. "But that's not all I admire... There's quite a bit of... beauty here in England, if I may say so." He cracked a smile, as his dark brown eyes flicked between Henry's sapphire blue eyes and his lightly parted pink lips.
With a soft, playful smirk and a glint of desire in his alluring dark eyes, Pietro gently and slowly began to inch his lips towards Henry's. For a second Henry felt himself forget where he was; the drab dimly lit basement, hidden from view and from society itself; but just as he was about to place his lips onto Pietro's he was rudely and suddenly awoken from this little dream by an aggressive jolt.
"Harry! Harry! Quick, your coat!" Henry was jolted out of his little romantic dream world as he instinctively pulled away from Pietro; glancing to the side to see James handing him his tweed overcoat. He looked calm in his demeanour but there was a slight tinge of frantic anxiety in his eyes that Henry, knowing him well, could immediately pick up on.
"What on Earth is going on?!" Henry asked seriously, glancing over James' shoulder to see Charles walking up agitatedly as the rest of the men in the club seemed to be scrambling about with the fear of God in their eyes.
"The police are here."