Chapter 9
GEORGE
The wedding breakfast was taking place at the Hewitts’ townhouse in Marylebone, and George was only too happy to agree to Theo's suggestion that they walk there together, glad to stretch his legs after the long ceremony and to have a little time to gather himself before embarking on the next part of this already interminable day.
“I suppose we should speak to the bride and groom before we go,” he murmured, glancing over at Ollie and his bride. They stood beside a beribboned carriage with Mr. Hewitt, accepting congratulations from a steady stream of guests.
“I suppose so,” Theo agreed without enthusiasm.
They strolled towards the newlyweds, joining the line of waiting guests. As they slowly moved forward, George had ample time to ponder Ollie’s clenched smile and the faint panic in his eyes. Perhaps the permanence of his newly-married state was sinking in.
When they finally reached the bride and groom, Ollie’s expression brightened, and when George put out his hand, murmuring congratulations, Ollie seized it with both of his own. “Sherry,” he said, a little breathlessly. “You came.”
“Of course,” George said, gently tugging his hand out of Ollie’s grasp. “I said I would, didn't I?”
Ollie opened his mouth to speak again, but George was already moving on to the bride, keen to get this over with.
“Mrs. Fletcher,” he said, with smiling emphasis, “my heartfelt congratulations.” He bowed over her hand, and when he straightened again, she was beaming at him.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said happily. “And thank you for coming. It's a great honour to have you as our guest today.”
Theo, who had stepped forward to take George’s place in front of Ollie and was now shaking his hand vigorously, said, “You're a lucky devil, Fletch. Your bride is looking quite lovely.”
Ollie smiled tightly at that, while Cecily pinkened with pleasure.
“Careful, Caldwell,” Hewitt said cheerfully. “No flirting with my daughter—she’s a married woman now, isn’t that right, Fletcher?”
“Quite so,” Ollie said shortly, a slight bite in his voice. Cecily glanced at him warily but Hewitt didn't even notice, because now George was stepping up to greet him, while Theo took his place in front of the bride.
“Lord Sherrington,” Hewitt announced happily, seeming to relish every syllable. “We're delighted you came. Do you have your carriage with you? If not, I’d be delighted to convey you to our humble celebration in my own.”
George was quite sure the wedding breakfast would be anything but humble. “Thank you, Mr. Hewitt,” he said politely, “but Mr. Caldwell and I plan to walk. A little morning air will do us good.”
Hewitt looked briefly disappointed but quickly rallied. “Oh well, just make sure you bring your appetite, my lord. I’ll wager you won’t be disappointed by my table.”
“I’m sure I won't,” George agreed smoothly, grateful for the new guests stepping forward to offer their congratulations, obliging George and Theo to move aside to make way for them.
“That poor girl,” Theo said under his breath as they strolled away. “She’s only been married a quarter hour, and already I see the first doubts setting in.”
George was too busy murmuring greetings to passing acquaintances to reply. But he couldn’t disagree. Ollie had looked positively hunted.
They headed for Marylebone at a strolling pace. The heavy, grey clouds of earlier had dissipated, leaving lighter, wispier ones behind them, through which the sun occasionally peeped.
Every now and again, George found himself glancing at Theo, and each time he did, his gaze tried to linger.
Had he really lain back against that broad chest just last night?
Felt that big hand stroking his cock? The memory felt both immediate and distant, like something he’d dreamed, and his mouth dried, distant lust stirring in his belly.
When they arrived at Hewitt’s house, it was to find the street lined with carriages.
A footman showed them into a drawing room that was already bustling with guests.
The wedding breakfast itself was apparently to be served in the large reception room that had been used for the dancing the evening before.
Piers Fletcher spotted them as soon as they walked in and strolled over to greet them. “Looks like we managed to get a good number of guests in the end,” he said jovially. He clapped George’s shoulder. “Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?” George echoed doubtfully.
Piers chuckled. "Aren’t you one of the most desirable marriage prospects in England?
Once you said you were coming, lots of other people changed their minds.
All those ambitious mamas who were inconsolable when you left town in the middle of the season last year, I expect.
” He gave a bray of laughter before leaning in to add more quietly, "The main thing is that Old Man Hewitt’s happy—which means Fletch is too. ”
“Well, so long as Fletch is happy,” Theo said, waspishly.
Piers laughed, like this was an old joke between them.
“Till he’s not,” he agreed, grinning. He glanced at George then.
“You know what he’s like.” When George only stared at him, puzzled, Piers said, “I’ve never known a fellow who complains more than my cousin.
Someone else has always got what he wants.
” He didn’t sound as though he was criticising Ollie.
If anything he seemed amused. Fond even.
But then, Piers always had been a good-natured fellow.
And George had to admit his words had a ring of truth to them.
As soon as that thought occurred to George, he felt disloyal. Quickly, he said, “I’m glad he’s happy. He’s always been a good friend to me.”
That prompted another hearty laugh from Piers.
"Oh, come on,” he said, elbowing George in the side.
“Always? That’s doing it a bit too brown!
Don’t you remember that time he put a rat in your desk at school?
Fletch said the Latin master just about had an apoplexy when you opened the lid and it jumped out.
Said you screamed like a banshee!” He laughed uproariously.
George felt suddenly queasy at the memory, even as he tried to smile.
He still vividly remembered the moment the petrified rat had darted out, its sharp yellow teeth on show, ready to bite.
He did scream like a banshee, just as Piers had said.
And flailed in panic, nearly overturning his chair.
He remembered too the surprising heft of the rat’s small body as he batted it away with his left arm.
The feel of its claws skittering over his wrist.
He’d laughed along afterwards. He hadn’t wanted anyone to think he was a bad sport.
But for some reason, today, he found himself recalling the pang of betrayal he’d felt at being made fun of by Ollie of all people.
At the time, he’d berated himself for being over-sensitive, but still, the feeling had lingered.
He was sensitive, he knew that. Knew too that it was a character flaw.
How many times had he been told as much at school?
But it was hard to stop being something that you simply were.
The best he could do was to pretend. So he’d tried, acting as though it didn’t hurt when the other boys made fun of him, or Ollie played one of his pranks, or Theo Caldwell refused to give him his book back until he'd climbed the highest tree in the school grounds.
“Did you know,” Piers said then, distracting George from his thoughts, “Caldwell here gave Ollie hell about that prank!” He shook his head, seeming very amused by this.
Stunned, George turned to look at Theo. “Did you?” he said, astonished.
Theo flushed—actually flushed! Almost belligerently, he said, “Of course I did! It was a stupid, reckless prank. You could have been bitten—rats carry all sorts of diseases, and they’re aggressive when they're cornered.”
“If you remember, we did far worse in our time,” Piers pointed out. “But then you always were protective of Gracie—oh, damn!” He sent George an apologetic look. “Sorry, Sherry. Caldwell says you don’t like that name.”
George blinked at him, then turned back to Theo, but Theo had turned away to beckon over a nearby footman bearing a tray of glasses. George could see his cheeks were pink, though, despite his face being averted.
Was he embarrassed?
When the footman reached them, they each relieved him of one of the glasses on the tray.
Then Theo immediately changed the subject, starting in on a long story about some fellow Piers knew who’d just bought a gelding at great expense that had proven to be a dud.
George couldn’t concentrate on the story at all.
He let the words drift over him as he pondered what Piers had just revealed.
Theo had been annoyed about Ollie’s prank? Protective of him?
Perhaps if they’d been alone, George would have asked Theo more about it, but he couldn’t in front of Piers.
And anyway, after a few minutes, he was collared by Lady Marston and her twin daughters, and then Edward Castleton approached, eager to introduce his unmarried sister.
And so it went on. Every time George thought he was about to get free, someone else would glide in front of him.
Even Ollie's father came to greet him, his expression disturbingly jovial. The last time George had seen Sir Joseph, the man had still been sweating from the effort of thrashing his own son and barely holding on to his temper as he’d ordered George to pack his things and leave Dinsford Park.
Yet now, today, he was all smiles and geniality, so delighted that Sherrington could come, and how was his father, and goodness but it had been far too long since they’d seen him at Dinsford Park.
George had been very glad to take his leave of him, even though it meant being besieged by yet more marriageable young ladies and their mamas.