A Christmas Cotillion

of the Grants’ household. In his own spare bachelor home, he was used to shifting for himself, but the Grants could afford to have as many servants as they pleased, just to underline their status.
Despite being comfortably off and living in a large residence, they were very easy in their ways and unthinkingly did tasks for themselves, rather than expecting an employee to race to their aid. The staff was evidently considered part of the family and the informal temporary help were accustomed to coming in and out of the house in the most relaxed way. It made for a jolly atmosphere.
While the older members of the company rested from an excess of food and the younger went outdoors to walk off their high spirits, the house was quiet in the early twilight. Replete from feasting and armed with a glass of brandy, Jonathan settled by the fire in the library with one of the more senior members of the Grant family, who after a few minutes of desultory conversation, fell soundly asleep.
As he listened to the ticking clock and the crackle of the fire plus the soft snores from his companion, Jonathan felt more relaxed than he had done in years. The good food and merry company were irresistible and his face ached from smiling more than usual.
As he sat comfortably and quietly, his life at home seemed like a hair shirt in comparison, bleak and driven. Yes, of course, he reasoned to himself, he had to work hard on the farm initially and he had a parcel of relatives to care for, but need it be quite so joyless?
He mused on this while swirling the brandy in the glass against the warmth of the fire, the rich tawny shade and aroma of the liquid seeming to coalesce his train of thought.
Life had been so different once, full of excitement, adventure, love, even…His recollections nudged against that painfully sore spot in his memory, but for once he did not flinch or withdraw, but let the years roll back and the reminiscences fill his mind.
It was at university that life had become so vivid. Before then, his young existence had been somewhat functional and grey. The early loss of both parents, who he could barely remember, resulted in the stewardship of his two elderly great uncles. Despite neither being married, they had taken on the responsibility of the boy without fuss and catered for his practical needs. Jonathan recollected his childhood and adolescence being dominated by similar Spartan routines, both in term time and at home, shuttling between one uncle and the other.
And so, unsurprisingly, his first term at Oxford was a revelation.
This was particularly because, in his sheltered ignorance, he had expected nothing different. He had assumed it would be much like school; a mainly male environment with a strict pecking order and an emphasis on scholastic achievement or athleticism.
Indeed, that was so, but alongside all that was so much more freedom than he could have ever imagined. At first, he stood on the sidelines, observing his peers as they eagerly took their fill of wine, women, and song. The female amours were no issue for him and also, he was too wary to get involved with so much heavy spending, heavy drinking, and gambling, none of which he could afford. During his upbringing, his uncles had taken their responsibilities seriously in that quarter as to what proper conduct and expenditure was expected of him as a sprig of the noble Cavendish line.
Gradually and inevitably though, he had made friends and his lack of extremes in manner caused him to be considered as a sound sort of fellow and so his university life was unremarkable and settled. And then he met Sebastian. God, even after all these years, even rolling the name around in his mind gave up a kaleidoscope of memories, full of colour, life, and brilliance.
That first sighting was etched in his mind. He and a friend were walking across the quad between lectures and suddenly Sebastian was there, joking with a group of friends, head thrown back in irresistible laughter, that gorgeous column of pale throat exposed above his neckcloth. Jonathan’s mouth went dry at the memory. He took another sip of brandy.
Even at that initial glimpse, then shortly afterwards, when they were introduced, Sebastian had seemed gilded and glowing to Jonathan. His golden hair, mobile features, and light cerulean eyes made Jonathan want to adulate him like an Adonis, or even a Greek god.
He was happy enough to worship from afar, to get a tingle of magic when he caught a glimpse of his idol. And so he was amazed when Sebastian sought him out, stepping outside his own exclusive circle, deliberately befriending him, and seeming almost shy in his advances.
Jonathan was dazzled. They had become lovers very quickly and he had experienced those pangs and darts and arrows of first love all at once. He had known his nature at school but not acted upon it, through both native caution and not wanting to disgrace his uncles. It was a well-known fact that young men who played sexual games a little too obviously or became over-serious about their crushes were expelled without hesitation.
Sebastian had no such concerns for what he dismissively called parochial morality and did not seem to care about showing his affection for Jonathan. At the time, this was liberating, as though their love took them beyond social rules. As an older, wiser man, Jonathan reflected that it was more Sebastian’s aristocratic background that made him feel untouchable. After all, he was wealthy enough to act above the law, oblivious to the consequences for more ordinary men.
Rather than fizzling out, as Jonathan had half-expected, their relationship had blossomed over the final year of his studies. When it was time for them to leave Oxford, there was no question of them being parted. Sebastian was taking rooms in a fashionable part of London and it seemed natural and unremarkable for Jonathan to share