A Gentleman's Secret ~ The third novelette from "Different Desire", a Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic novelette collection

 
    ~ A Gentleman’s Secret ~
    A Victorian Romance and Erotic Novelette
     
    by Lady T. L. Jennings
     
     
    If I had known what would happen later that night and what consequences it would have, I would never have gone to bed in the first place. Or possibly, I would have left the house in Kensington screaming like a lunatic.
    However, as it was, I had no clue of the future incident that would change my life irreversibly, so I did what I always did when I had the entire terraced house for myself: I tapped up a hot bath, silently thanking the wonderful 19th century’s modernity for the hot water , which quickly filled the large copper bathtub. I had had it installed two years ago, and still I found it childishly exciting every time I turned the rounded porcelain tap handles and hot water rushed o ut from the pipes.
    I had left my parents and the rest of our family’s yearly Christmas celebration at the countryside residence in the Lake District a couple of days earlier with a vague excuse that I had pressing business to attend to in London, which was the only justification my father and my older brother would understand and accept. It took all my negotiating skill to leave Carl, who was my valet and butler, behind and to stop a telegraph message from be ing wired ahead to alert the staff at my house in Kensington that I would arrive earlier than planned. I truly appreciate d having the whole house for myself, and I did not want to be disturbed by servants. Besides, I am four-and-thirty years old, and I think I am fully capable once in a while to dress and undress all by myself, although I knew that Carl most likely would frown over the way I hung my clothes back in the wardrobe. He would never actually say anything, of course; however, he would frown in my presence and possibly also try to hide an involuntary shiver over the inexcusable manhandling of my clothes.
    I had my long , luxurious bath and celebrated my solitude with a small glass of whiskey before I went to bed and , after I had finish ed my reading , blew out the candle. The house was blissfully empty and quiet , and for once , I fell asleep almost immediately .
    I woke up with a start perhaps a couple of hours later for an unknown reason. For a while , I lay in my large bed, listening and wondering why I was suddenly wide - awake. Nothing seemed to be amiss . O utside, I heard the never-ending background noise of London. The sound of steel horse shoes against the cobblestone-paved street as a late fly carriage passed by in front of the house . People talking, someone laughing, and a baby crying far away. London was never quiet; she was always awake, only slumbering perhaps at this time of night. And e ven though my bedroom did not face the street but a small courtyard garden, the room was never completely silent . However, it was not London’s background noise that had woke n me up ; it was something else. A sound which did not belong.
    Silently I left the bed and hastily pulled on a pair of trousers, fumbling with the buttons in the darkness. The bedroom had turned rather chilly since the fire had burned down in the fireplace. I could not find my shirt in the wardrobe, so I ghosted downstairs dressed only in my trousers and a pair of grey woollen slippers. I prayed silently that it was not the scullery maid who had decided to arrive uncommonly early; I would scare her to death if she saw me only half-dressed and probably die of shame and mortification myself. However, I dismissed the thought as I heard a new strange sound followed by hushed voices from the drawing room downstairs.
    The white terraced house in Kensington , just west of Hyde Park , had belonged to my rather eccentric uncle Thomas, who had been a bachelor just like me . He had been deeply interested in anthropology and had travelled to South America and Africa on a regular basis to meet with unsophisticated tribe members in the darkest parts of the jungle and study their way of life and rituals. He had been both a scientist and an explorer, but above all , he had been a rather fanatic collector. So natura l l y, the whole house , which I had taken over when he passed away silently in his sleep five years ago, was filled with all kind s of exotic items. Primitive weapons, tribal jewellery, and animal skins filled every corner of the house . I even had a full - size stuffed baby hippo standing in the hall room. For years, I had meant to go through his old things and donate some of it to