Chapter Text
Lilium & Co. – Est. 1792.
The shop of the honorable and influential Ravenscourt family was a veritable olfactory symphony. Each bottle, meticulously crafted, was designed to evoke a specific emotion or memory. Polished wooden shelves housed delicate glass flacons, filled with scented liquids bearing evocative names such as Midnight Jasmine or Starlight Musk. At the center of the room stood a carved wooden counter, its surface gleaming, catching the warm afternoon light that streamed through the windows and offered a view of London’s bustling streets in this social season.
William, resplendent in his bespoke black suit, greeted a client, the wife of an influential business associate, essential to the company’s European export with a charming smile. Her beauty, as captivating as that of his brother, rivaled the fame of Lilium Perfumery itself.
As their client wandered near the polished wooden shelves, her eyes sparkling with admiration for the precious bottles, William presented a new selection of perfumes, each more enticing than the last.
— The Empress of Amber is one of my favorites, he murmured, his voice soft, almost velvety. The notes of bergamot and lemon bring a brilliant freshness, while the heart of jasmine and rose adds a sensuous warmth. And at its base, the rich amber resin gives a depth of character that is simply irresistible.
He inclined slightly toward the client, his pale blond hair falling across his face. His voice, now intimate, whispered near her ear, like a promise brushing against the skin. The woman’s eyes closed softly, a sigh escaping her lips. The effect was clear: she was entranced, not only by the fragrance but also by the man presenting it.
From the upper floor, Lukas watched the scene unfold. His piercing, icy green eyes fixed on his brother and the client with an intensity that bordered on unsettling. Lukas’ gaze narrowed, cold and calculating, as each gesture of William’s, every exchanged smile, seemed to crystallize in his mind with particular clarity. A dark, possessive gleam flickered across his features before he replaced it with a mask of neutrality, concealing his tension behind an impassive facade.
The atmosphere in the workshop shifted completely with the arrival of a shipment of crystal flacons. The fragile elegance of the pieces had no time to charm him. Earl Lukas Alexander Ravenscourt, known for his ruthless perfectionism, immediately detected a flaw. Nearly imperceptible, yet enough to shake the established order. His jaw clenched, a slight tremor ran along his cheek, and with a sharp gesture, he ordered the entire batch returned to the factory. A wave of panic swept through the employees. Movements grew hurried, glances became furtive, hands uncertain. Everyone rushed to comply with the demands of the Count, who dominated the room like a cold shadow, distant, uncompromising, almost inhuman.
— The Ravenscourt name is synonymous with excellence, he declared, his voice cutting like broken glass. We cannot, and will never, settle for anything less than perfection.
At that precise moment, a familiar figure appeared at the top of the iron staircase: Lord William Alexander Ravenscourt. He ascended quickly toward his brother, his brow furrowed with genuine concern, a stark contrast to the coldness of the scene below.
— Lukas, what’s happening?
William’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he approached his brother. His hand rested delicately on Lukas’ shoulder, a gesture many would deem purely fraternal, yet within the corridors of the manor and among the workshop employees, it sparked rumors of vague intimacies. There was a warmth in that simple touch, a hint of closeness too subtle to be innocent.
Lukas stiffened briefly under the contact, his shoulders tensing like a drawn bow before releasing an almost imperceptible fraction of the tension. When he spoke, his voice was as controlled as it was cutting, low and vibrating with restrained frustration.
— These flacons are mediocre. They do not meet our standards.
His eyes, an intense green identical to William’s, shone with cold anger, yet a deeper, primal fire lay barely contained within them. True to himself, William listened without interrupting, his thumb tracing small, distracted circles against his brother’s shoulder blade, as if trying to soothe a beast ready to strike.
— Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere, he murmured, his voice almost caressing the space between them. His lips brushed lightly against the delicate edge of Lukas’ ear.
Lukas nodded briefly, pivoting on his heels with icy elegance, already heading toward their private office. William followed a few steps behind, silent as a loyal shadow.
Once inside, Lukas closed the door with a sharp snap, slicing the air like a sentence. The wood shivered lightly at the impact, sealing the moment within a bubble of intimacy safe from prying eyes and tongues too curious. He turned immediately to face his brother. Their eyes met, locked, and in that suspended instant, a latent tension ignited. An indefinable, troubling energy charged the air between them, too heavy to be merely fraternal, yet too subtle to be named.
After a measured silence, Lukas seemed to regain control of his thoughts. His face closed like a slammed door, and his voice rose, firm, almost solemn:
— This is not about personal preferences, William. This is about defending the Ravenscourt legacy.
— I understand your concerns, but a minor flaw surely will not ruin the entire batch, William replied softly, his voice soothing as he stood near Lukas at the desk.
He reached for the rejected bottle, turning it slowly in the light to inspect the imperfection. Lukas, however, almost snatched it from his hands, gripping the flacon with a near-frenzied intensity.
— Minor? To me, it’s a symbol of complacency. Of letting our guard down when we should be seeking innovation, excellence, he continued, his voice edged with a faint acrimony, betraying a touch of self-reproach he could not conceal.
William observed him a moment, then, with infinite patience, gently placed his hand under Lukas’ chin, forcing him to lift his gaze. The contact, firm and reassuring, seemed almost to weigh upon the air between them.
— You are right, we cannot afford to rest on our laurels. But sometimes progress requires accepting a few setbacks, however minor along the way, he murmured, his eyes meeting Lukas’ with an unreadable glimmer.
Lukas exhaled slowly, feeling the tension ease in his shoulders as he met William’s understanding gaze.
— You are right, he murmured at last, his voice softer. I let my temper take over. It’s just…seeing Lady Vanderburg with you earlier stirred feelings I prefer to keep buried.
William’s eyebrows rose, a fleeting surprise quickly masked by a indulgent smile.
— Oh Lukas, he murmured gently, you know I value our partnership above all else. Clients adore this unique and authentic connection we share.
Lukas nodded, a faint, corner-of-the-mouth smile, almost amused by himself.
— Yes…perhaps too unique. Sometimes I wonder if this bond is a strength or a weakness. He slowly turned, back to William, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. But enough of that.
— Enough of what? William teased, his tone light and playful, leaning on the desk in a posture almost identical to Lukas’. There really is no topic too taboo for us, is there?
Lukas glanced sideways at him, a fleeting smile brushing his lips before replying with a touch of sarcasm.
— Oh, I think you know perfectly well what I mean. The way you charm the ladies, the way they devour your gaze…
His voice faded on the last word, leaving the implication heavy in the air. William let out a deep, warm laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
— And how do you think they look at you, hm? Probably with the same admiration, right, Lukas?
The latter shrugged, a gesture feigning indifference but revealing embarrassment beneath. A faint flush crept across his cheeks despite himself.
— Perhaps…but it does not interest me.
— Well, in any case, I am pleased they enjoy our company, William’s tone filled with sincerity. It is always gratifying to see our clients satisfied, whether by our perfumes or…our personal charms.
Lukas let out a rare, warm laugh, a sound betraying genuine affection.
— Personal charms, indeed. You have always had the golden tongue, Will.
— I learned from the best, William replied with a mischievous smile, nodding toward his twin. After all, someone must ensure the Ravenscourt name does not tarnish.
— And that is where I come in, Lukas added, feigning severity before immediately replacing it with an amused smile.
— And I suppose that is precisely what makes our dynamic so fascinating, William murmured, leaning forward as if to confide a secret. The perfect blend of irresistible opposites.
Their laughter slowly faded, leaving a silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. William straightened, observing the bottles on the desk, their gleam dimming as the sun waned.
— It is strange, murmured Lukas, as if the day has yet to decide to end. His eyes drifted toward the distant bustle of the London streets.
— Time seems suspended, does it not? William replied with a cornered smile. As if nothing happening around us could alter who we are.
Lukas shrugged, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, and without another word, moved toward the desk. He shifted a paper with a distracted hand before straightening, finally ready to leave the room.
The afternoon light outside waned, a silent marker of passing time. They left the office in silence, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
The journey back to Mayfair, where their city residence awaited, was marked by a heavy tranquility, a liminal space in which their minds still lingered on the echoes of their conversation. As they approached their home, the evening shadow crept over the streets, bringing with it a strange, almost solemn peace.
As the carriage neared their destination, William stole a quick glance at Lukas, searching for a flicker of the same fire he had seen earlier in his eyes. But the latter seemed absorbed, his thoughts suspended. William turned his gaze to the passing scenery instead.
Upon arrival, a servant hurried forward to greet them, presenting a sealed letter stamped with the royal seal. William opened it with a distracted gesture, his eyes scanning the words written in cool, precise calligraphy.
— An invitation to a ball, from Queen Victoria, he announced, handing the letter to Lukas, his tone curious yet nonchalant.
Lukas took the letter from his brother, his brows furrowed as his eyes darted swiftly across the lines. A shadow of annoyance passed over his face, but he maintained his composure before returning the paper to William, his tone as crisp as a London winter.
— Just what we needed. Another one of those tedious social obligations.
A small laugh escaped William’s lips, both amused and resigned. He folded the invitation delicately, slipping it into his coat pocket before entering the manor. Upon their arrival, the servants had hastened to meet them, efficiently removing their city coats still imbued with the scents of bustling streets.
They made their way together to the main drawing room, a vast space adorned with gilded mouldings and garnet velvet curtains. Lukas settled into the buttoned leather sofa with the composed grace that defined him, and, with a simple gesture, asked the butler for a pot of tea. William, meanwhile, poured himself a glass of bourbon, letting the ice tinkle softly against the crystal.
— Come now, brother, he said, turning to him with a half-smile. It is quite the honour to be summoned by Her Majesty herself…especially considering our arrangements with her.
A mischievous spark lit his gaze, but Lukas remained unmoved.
— And just think of the opportunities, William continued, taking a seat beside him. Political alliances, commercial partnerships…Lilium & Co could come out stronger for it.
Lukas offered a faint, joyless smile before bringing his cup to his lips.
— Valuable connections, no doubt. But I doubt the scent of courtiers is as pleasing as that which we distill here. And frankly, I take far more pleasure in personally overseeing production than in playing the socialite under the gilded ceilings of the palace.
A companionable silence settled, heavy with habit, opposing opinions, and deep mutual respect, as the golden evening light filtered through the tall windows, wrapping the two brothers in a quiet bubble of intimacy.
William’s expression softened. He placed a reassuring hand on Lukas’ shoulder, the gesture imbued with genuine warmth.
— I understand your reservations perfectly, he murmured. But consider this: our presence sends a clear message. Ravenscourt is not merely a prosperous business; it is an institution firmly entrenched in the most influential circles. And…between us, it is never a bad idea to keep a careful eye on the court. Their favour could open doors whose existence we are yet unaware of.
Lukas clenched his jaw, visibly torn between his instinct for control and the irrefutable logic of his brother’s words. After a long, heavy silence, he exhaled.
— Very well. We shall go. But mark my words, if any noble imagines they can manipulate us…
William offered a sly grin, releasing Lukas’ shoulder in a light, affectionate press. He set his glass on the low table, the crystal resonating softly against the marble.
— Leave diplomacy to me, he said calmly.
— And I will keep watch over threats and power games. You know how these vipers delight in sullying our name.
Lukas’ voice had grown darker, yet a fine, enigmatic smile now lingered at the corner of his lips.
— Together, we shall navigate this social theatre… and Ravenscourt will emerge stronger for it.
William nodded slowly, his smile widening.
— United as always. Just as Mother taught us.
He cast a glance around the room, his eyes shimmering with gentle nostalgia, before lowering his voice.
— Shall we retire upstairs? I daresay this gathering will demand as much refinement as wit. It is time to select our most impressive attire.
Lukas chuckled softly, the tension easing from his shoulders.
— Very well. Let us give the court an unforgettable performance. After all, it is not every day that the Ravenscourt brothers deign to appear… especially for a celebration I find, shall we say, largely superfluous.
They left the drawing room with measured steps, ascending the main staircase side by side, already absorbed in the silent gears of their strategic thoughts.
The chamber they shared, despite convention, seemed timeless. Spacious and finely decorated, it had once been intended for the Earl alone, yet it had become their shared sanctuary, a world apart, safe from expectation and prying eyes. The velvet drapes swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the air smelled of lavender and fresh beeswax.
William entered first, opening a large box containing a carefully wrapped outfit laid out on the four-poster bed. His eyes sparkled with a joyful gleam as he turned to Lukas, who followed silently, removing his gloves with methodical precision.
— I had something prepared for you, he announced, almost as if revealing a long-kept secret. White and gold, for you. Tailored in Paris. Straight from Maison Worth. I know how much you dread these soirées, so… I wanted to make it slightly more bearable. We received them this afternoon.
Lukas raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself, as William unfolded the garment like a magician revealing a treasure. The jacket, immaculate white, embroidered with finely worked golden threads, shimmered under the soft light.
— Will… it’s magnificent.
— It is in your image, he replied simply, before producing his own attire, black as night, adorned with silver.
— Were you aware of the ball this evening? Lukas’ gaze showed a hint of perplexity.
— No, pure coincidence.
A satisfied smile on his lips, William and Lukas donned their new outfits unhurriedly, as they always had, in a familiarity devoid of embarrassment, punctuated by the rustle of fabrics and soft bursts of laughter. Lukas teased William about buttoning his shirt incorrectly, and William tousled his brother’s hair in return.
Then, as if by instinct, William approached with a brush and a small pot.
— What say you… to the hairstyles of our childhood balls? The ones where we were convinced we could trick the guests by switching places.
— The ones with our ridiculous curly locks and the centre parting? Lukas choked, stifling a laugh.
— Exactly those.
Lukas hesitated, then nodded with a sly smile. A few minutes later, the twins stood before the mirror, perfectly matched, the same meticulous hairstyle, the same spark in their eyes. One in light, the other in shadow. Two versions of the same tableau.
— We look… terribly synchronised, murmured Lukas.
— As always, replied William, discreetly adjusting his brother’s collar. If one falls, the other follows. If one shines, the other illuminates. It is our way of existing.
A tender silence settled between them, the kind that does not stifle but envelops, requiring nothing but to be shared.
And, without another word, they left their sanctuary, shoulder to shoulder, like two parts of a whole, ready to face the courtly games with their masks embroidered in grace and irony, carried by that strange alliance that belonged only to them.
As the sun sank behind the horizon, staining the sky with purple and gold, long shadows stretched across the grand hall of Ravenscourt Manor. The polished parquet gleamed beneath the dying light, and the measured footsteps of Lukas and William echoed with almost choreographed elegance. Clad in their matching attire, perfect down to the smallest detail, they were ready for the royal evening.
But as they reached the threshold, two figures emerged from the twilight, like ghosts from a past they thought buried. Two men in dark coats, faces grave, boots dusted with earth. The insignia of Scotland Yard glinted discreetly on their lapels.
William instinctively stepped in front of his brother, his arm brushing Lukas’ in a silent reminder: I am here.
— Good evening, gentlemen, the chief inspector said, his voice neutral, almost unnaturally calm.
He withdrew a sealed envelope from the inner pocket of his coat.
— We have been informed, anonymously, that you may be in possession of… compromising documents. This letter appears to confirm it.
Without flinching, he handed the envelope to William, who took it with measured grace, his gaze already sharp.
— An anonymous letter? How convenient, he said with a half-smile. And pray tell, what is alleged this time? What crime have we committed, exactly? Being too well-dressed?
A tense silence followed, broken only by the soft rustle of the paper William turned slowly between his fingers. Lukas, still in the background, watched every movement of the inspectors, his expression impassive but a faint tension betraying itself at the corner of his jaw.
The inspector cleared his throat, glancing at his partner.
— The contents of this letter remain vague, but it mentions confidential exchanges linked to certain… unorthodox transactions. We are merely doing our duty, Lord Ravenscourt.
William leaned slightly forward, a sharp gleam in his eye.
— Duty, of course. And in the meantime, far bolder criminals prosper in Her Majesty’s gilded salons. But very well. Since you are here… why not accompany us to this social ball? There will be a crowd, perhaps even a few well-dressed traitors among the guests.
He turned slightly toward Lukas, offering a finely ironic smile.
— What say you, brother? An official escort? That would make quite the impression.
Lukas nodded, a cold amusement glinting in his eyes.
— I trust they will know how to dance. Otherwise, what a bore…
— Indeed, we could not allow ourselves to be embarrassed, William continued, his voice dripping with carefully measured sarcasm. Imagine the headlines: ‘Scotland Yard inspectors waltz with lords of crime.’ A bestseller, surely.
The inspectors’ faces immediately stiffened. Lord Ravenscourt’s quiet arrogance had its effect, yet they held their position with a bureaucratic rigidity almost comical.
— Lord Ravenscourt, we are not here to jest, the chief inspector retorted sharply. These allegations are serious.
— Oh, do spare me, William interrupted, his tone suddenly icy. As serious as this unsigned, unfounded letter? You cling to rumours as a drunkard clings to his last bottle. And as for these alleged ‘unorthodox transactions’… I suggest you focus on those truly sowing chaos in the streets of London, not those striving to maintain a semblance of beauty in this crumbling world.
Lukas stepped forward then, slowly, yet with a presence that silenced every murmur. His eyes, usually veiled in restraint, now flashed a cutting light.
— Enough, gentlemen, he said in a low, perfectly controlled voice. If you have nothing concrete to present, I suggest you leave this house at once… before I exhaust the last of my patience.
He advanced a step, gaze fixed, posture imperious.
— And believe me, it would be in your interest that Her Majesty does not learn her agents are harassing her most loyal allies, delaying us from her private reception in the process.
A heavy silence fell, as if even the walls of the manor held their breath. The inspectors exchanged a brief, uneasy glance. After a tense pause, the chief inspector bowed, rigid as a post.
— Very well, Earl Ravenscourt. We withdraw… for now. But expect to see us again. With a warrant, next time.
Without waiting for a response, he gave a curt signal to his partner, and the two men turned on their heels. The heavy thud of the closing door echoed like a clap of thunder through the silent hall.
Lukas, his features taut, remained still for a moment, eyes fixed on the empty space they had left behind. Then, with a sudden gesture, he snatched the letter from William’s hands.
— What is this absurdity? he growled, tearing the seal.
His voice was low and threatening, contrasting with the almost imperceptible tremor of his fingers.
He skimmed the contents with a quick glance, then paled.
— They accuse us… of opium trafficking. And not just any: a high-concentration import, hidden in the 1864 accounts as commercial transactions.
He tossed the paper onto the table with a dry, joyless laugh.
— It’s grotesque. Especially since this trade, while morally dubious, is still legal! They waste my time with their hollow insinuations.
William took the letter, his features hardening as he examined it. He turned it over carefully, studying the paper, the type of print. His gaze darkened.
— Hm. The paper is decent quality. Not the finest, but certainly not the cheapest. And printed, not handwritten. A quality press, probably. Someone wants to remain anonymous but make sure they are taken seriously.
He raised his eyes to meet Lukas’.
— 1864? We weren’t even born then.
Without waiting, with a weary sigh, Lukas turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, heading for their late father’s study. William followed immediately, like a familiar shadow.
— The letter mentions the Earl Ravenscourt, Lukas clarified, unrolling old documents, his tone returning to cold analysis. But it never mentions my name.
William stepped closer, arms crossed.
— Do you think Father is involved in this? he asked, jaw tight.
Lukas did not answer immediately. He paused, fingers resting on the edge of an old ledger, his gaze lost in some invisible point.
— It wouldn’t be the first time his past comes back to us like a poison.
A heavy silence fell, laden with echoes of the past, cumbersome legacies, and truths yet hidden. The old clock ticked the seconds in a dull, almost menacing thrum. Fine rain licked insistently at the windows, as though trying to seep between the cold stones of the manor. The study of the late Earl Ravenscourt, untouched since his death, exhaled a heady mix of wax, ancient wood… and memories Lukas would have preferred to leave buried.
He opened drawer after drawer, movements swift but precise. Fatigue tugged at his features, yet his eyes remained sharp, almost feverish. Finally, he found what he sought: an old, dusty ledger, bound in cracked leather.
— 1864, he murmured.
William said nothing, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He watched his brother as one watches a taut rope. He approached silently, slowly, as if not to startle him.
Lukas sat at the desk and opened the ledger with almost reverent care. He turned the pages nervously. Lines of numbers, names, cascading transactions. Then the term appeared, catching his attention.
“Apothecary substances, reserved use.”
And with it, a cascade of suspicion and unsavoury certainties. Generous volumes, implicit delivery sites such as old children’s hospitals abandoned since the 1800s, and dubious recipients with names seemingly borrowed from novels.
Lukas ran a hand over his forehead, then the nape of his neck. His back was rigid, features tense. Jaw clenched, as if holding back something explosive. William approached silently. He knelt beside the chair, one hand resting on his brother’s knee, a simple gesture, yet disarmingly tender.
— Breathe, Lu. Just… breathe.
Lukas did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on the page. He gripped the edge of the ledger as if he might tear it apart.
— He soils us, even dead, he whispered. It is never over. There is not a line he did not cross.
William said nothing. He straightened, slipping behind Lukas and wrapping his arms around him. His chin brushed against his brother’s pale, curly hair. The gesture, intimate yet familiar, might have seemed inappropriate to an outside observer. But to them, it was a silent language only they could understand.
Lukas hesitated, back tense… then let out a sigh, almost a moan. As if, in his brother’s embrace, he could finally release the tension without fear of breaking.
— You’ve always known how to calm me, he murmured, voice barely audible.
— Because I listen to what you never say.
A silence. Dense. Laden. Outside of time. Then William straightened slowly, keeping a hand on Lukas’ shoulder in a gentle massage. He spoke in a voice soft but firm.
— I’ll entrust this to James. He’ll know where to look, and above all… he’ll know to keep silent.
Lukas nodded slowly. His gaze still blurred, but his expression calmer. William reluctantly stepped away. He brushed Lukas’ shoulder one last time before moving toward the door, opening it just slightly.
— James?
The butler was already waiting in the corridor, as upright as a soldier. He entered without a sound, closing the door behind him.
— There is a ledger here, dated 1864. You will recognize it easily. It contains compromising material that must not fall into the wrong hands. Replace it.
James nodded slowly, without question.
— Discreetly, William added. No one must know, not even the staff. I don’t care how you manage it. Just do it properly.
— And the investigation? James asked evenly.
William glanced at Lukas, then back at his faithful servant, voice lowered.
— Find everything you can about what our father was doing at the time. Networks, partners, transactions. I want names. Real names and places. And I want the truth, however sordid.
James inclined his head, his gaze meeting Lukas’, fragile yet determined.
— It shall be done, my Lord.
When he left the room, his shadow blended once more into the silence of the manor.
For a moment, Lukas remained frozen, hands flat on the desk as if to anchor himself. Then he rose slowly, straightening his mask of stoicism.
— I feel as though we are already playing a game whose rules we do not know, he murmured.
— Then we shall write them ourselves, William replied calmly, placing a light hand on his brother’s back to guide him out. But first, let us play our part perfectly.
Lukas exhaled through his nose, a weary yet conspiratorial smile on his lips.
— We must go, he said, straightening his jacket. The news of Scotland Yard’s arrival has surely already spread. Our absence would only fuel speculation.
— Then let us go with flair, William breathed, like a promise. And late, as always.
They left the study together, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, the silk of their garments brushing the walls in a whisper of elegance. The manor seemed to hold its breath one last time before the doors closed behind them, sending them into the light of the chandeliers and the hubbub of the nobility.