Chapter 10
GEORGE
Mr. Hewitt had boasted that he had one of the best cooks in England, and at no point during the wedding breakfast was this more apparent than when the dessert course was served.
Each table was brought a bewildering range of sweets and puddings: crystal glasses of syllabub and small baked custards, delicate pink blancmanges, tiny tartlets and meringues, light as clouds. Meltingly fragile langues de chat and brightly coloured pates de fruits.
Theo blew out a defeated breath as the dishes were set down. “I don’t think I can manage a bite of this,” he said. Then he glanced at George, and his mouth quirked up in that charming way of his. “I’ll bet you can—I remember very well how much you like your puddings.”
“I do like pudding,” George admitted, “and these look excellent.”
He tasted the blancmange first. It was light and wobbly, almond and rosewater on his tongue.
Delicious. Then he worked his way through some of the little tartlets and fruit jellies before moving on to the lemony syllabub, dipping into the sweet mixture with a buttery langues de chat.
The little butter biscuits were the only sweet thing Theo deigned to taste, dipping one of them into his dessert wine and taking a bite before leaving the rest of it on his plate, uneaten.
By this time, George was feeling rather full, but he was unable to resist one last treat, a small baked custard.
It was the plainest of the desserts on offer, sweet and eggy, fragrant with nutmeg.
A flavour of his childhood, it was treat he always associated with his mother.
In her last year, it had been her favourite thing to eat.
She would often ask for it, though towards the end she rarely managed more than a few bites of the dinner that she took each evening in bed, on a tray over her lap.
George usually ended up eating her untouched pudding when he went to say good night to her.
Even now, all these years later, he often thought of those evenings. Of his mother, tucking him into her side, her thin arm about his shoulders, smiling down at him as he spooned up her abandoned desserts. Her face had been gaunt by then, her dark brown eyes enormous and shadowed.
George set his spoon down, the nostalgic flavour still on his tongue, his heart curiously heavy in his chest.
“You certainly do like pudding,” Theo said, his tone amused, but when George looked up, the smile on his face faded. “Oh,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
George made himself smile. “No,” he replied. “I’m fine.” Then, briskly, changing the subject, “Will you be staying in town after the wedding?”
Theo eyed him for a few long moments before he answered.
“No, I’m not fond of city life. The sooner I get out of London, the better.
” After a moment he added with a crooked smile, “Besides, if I stay much longer, I think my father may try to find an heiress for me. This wedding has given him ideas.”
A strange jolt went through George at that news. “Your father wants you to marry?”
“I believe so,” Theo said with an insouciant shrug of one shoulder, “but he has little to no say in what I do. Anyway, he’s much too lazy to exert himself, particularly given that the family line is already secured. No one can say my brother hasn’t done his duty in procreating heirs.”
“You don’t want children of your own?” George asked softly.
Another shrug. “It’s not as though I have much to pass on. Just some rather modest landholdings I inherited from an uncle recently. Which, incidentally, I plan to sell as soon as possible.”
“Oh?” George said, interested now. “And where are these landholdings?”
“Wales,” Theo said. “North Wales to be exact—which is where I’m going after this wedding.”
“Have you visited before?”
“Just once. My uncle passed away when I was still on the Continent, and I only learned about my inheritance when I returned to England. I headed up to Wales to see the place more or less as soon as I got back, but… well, it was quite a brief visit.” An odd, regretful expression passed over his face; then he firmed his jaw, adding, “This time, I plan to spend a bit longer, get a better of idea of what I have there.”
“I hear it’s a beautiful part of the world,” George said. “I’ve always wanted to visit Snowdonia. Is that anywhere near you?”
Theo’s smile burst over his face. “It’s very beautiful, and yes, Snowdonia only a day’s ride away. I didn’t go there the last time I visited, but I’ve been before. The mountains are glorious.”
“In that case, you must be pleased that your estate is so close to them.”
“I wouldn’t call it an estate, precisely,” Theo said, looking a little embarrassed.
“It’s more of a large farm, really. The land is split in half and I’ve got two tenants.
” He paused then grimaced, adding, “Unfortunately, my knowledge of land management is sadly lacking, but even I could see there were improvements needed when I visited before. I’ll need to get a better sense of what’s required during this visit. ”
George eyed him carefully. “You sound unsure?”
Theo sighed. “Yes. I’m rather out of my depth. My father didn’t think estate management was something my brother or I needed to learn—since we’re gentlemen, you understand. Apparently, no gentleman should ever be the least bit useful.”
“Ah,” George said. “A common view, though not one my father shares.”
“Yes, I remember,” Theo said, smiling almost wistfully. “You used to talk about your father taking you around his estates with him.”
“You remember that?” George said, surprised. He recalled prattling on about all sorts of things to Theo during those long summers at Dinsford Park, but he’d never thought Theo had paid much attention.
Theo offered a crooked smile. “I do. I used to envy you. My father had no time for me or my brother—he was far too busy indulging in idle pursuits. He left the running of our estates to his manager. He still does.”
“Do you think you would have enjoyed learning about land management? It does not interest everyone.”
“I think I’d have liked it well enough,” Theo said.
“The parts that involved being outdoors anyway. I’ve always preferred the outdoors.
School days used to feel interminable. I hated being shut up all day long in those freezing class rooms, with those tiny high-up windows you could barely see out of.
Especially in winter, when it was always so dark.
I never could concentrate on what the masters were saying. ”
“Perhaps you'd have found it easier to concentrate if they were teaching you about crop rotation instead of Latin and mathematics.”
“Perhaps,” Theo replied. “Even if I’d hated learning about it, it would have been worth it to have a bit more knowledge now. As it is, I don’t know the first thing about farming or animal husbandry or even understanding accounts.”
“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” George said encouragingly. “I have some books that I could lend you on all of those subjects. And I’d be more than happy to listen and offer advice where I can.”
He half expected Theo to scoff at that offer, but instead, Theo’s smile deepened into something heartfelt and almost shy.
“Really?” he said, eyeing George. “Or would you be horrified if I actually took you up on that offer?”
“Really,” George assured him. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
Theo opened his mouth to say something more, but just then a loud voice called for silence.
Mr. Hewitt had risen from his seat at the main table and was now beaming as he gazed around, seeming well pleased with the collected guests sitting in his ballroom.
He began a rambling speech which was probably supposed to be about the bride and groom, but somehow managed to be mostly about himself.
At length, though, he came to the point—which was that it was time for the toasts—and proceeded to propose the first one himself.
Mortifyingly, it was to George.
“The young man who will be proposing the first toast to the happy couple is, I must say, the most polite and gentlemanly of all my acquaintance—though I daresay he is the most elevated in rank in this room.” George tried not to visibly cringe, even as Mr. Hewitt continued, unabashed.
“Please, raise your glasses and join me in toasting our dear friend, Lord Sherrington.”
Our dear friend?
Beside him, Theo murmured, “Good lord.”
And really, the very first toast at this wedding being made to him, rather than to the bride and groom?
Amused glances were being shared between the guests at Hewitt’s obsequiously pushy outpouring as they obligingly repeated George’s name, then drank.
And then it was his turn.
As he got to his feet, the room quietened.
He had prepared an elegant, if rather formal speech and had taken pains to memorise it.
It was full of compliments to the bride—whom he had not yet met when he composed it—a little gentle teasing of the groom which raised a few polite titters, and heartfelt wishes for their future happiness and fertility.
At the end, he raised his glass and said, “To the bride and groom. May your union be long, happy and blessed.”
The guests dutifully intoned “to the bride and groom” then drank from their glasses again. And then Piers Fletcher was rising to his feet to make the next toast while George sank back into his seat, relieved it was over.
Theo leaned into him, murmuring, “A very nice speech, George. And now you’re free. We can leave after the toasts are done.”
We?
An odd ripple of excitement went through George at the thought of leaving with Theo, even if only to spend a little more time with the man as they walked back to Mayfair. Or had Theo meant something else? Perhaps a return to Redford’s? What would George say if he suggested that?
It would be madness. For Theo, taking pleasure with another man was likely nothing more personal than a card game. To be fair to him, he had made his feelings on the matter clear before he and George had even gone through to the back room at Redford’s.
“It’s not romantic, George. It’s just meeting physical needs—like scratching an itch.”
But George hadn’t realised exactly what that meant until he’d tried to kiss the man. As grateful as he was for the pleasure Theo had given him, George knew himself well enough to realise he would struggle not to feel rebuffed if that happened again.
Theo was leaning back in his chair now, giving his full attention to Piers’s toast, the flash of humour passing over his face making him even more appealingly handsome than ever.
And good lord, was George’s cock on the rise again? It was damned awkward that he found Theo Caldwell so compelling. It would be a great deal easier if he was indifferent. But he never had been. From the first time they’d met as boys, he’d always been breathless around Theo.
George quickly looked away, his gaze moving around the room and finally landing on the bridal couple. Cecily’s laughing attention was on Piers, but Ollie’s gaze… was on George.
Ollie’s brows were lowered, his cupid’s bow mouth pressed into a thin, almost disapproving line.
Why did he look so annoyed? Perhaps George's toast had disappointed him, or perhaps George hadn’t talked to the other guests enough, or pandered to Ollie’s new father-in-law sufficiently.
But whatever it was, George found, somewhat to his surprise, that he didn’t much care.
Another half dozen toasts were proposed before that part of the proceedings came to an end. Finally, though, the footmen reappeared to clear away the dessert course dishes.
That was when Theo leaned closer to George and murmured, "Are you ready to leave?” His breath was warm against George’s ear, and George shivered at the sensation, hunching his shoulder a little and casting a glance at Theo.
Their faces were close, and when their eyes met, George couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even remember the question.
“Sorry?” he breathed.
Theo's chuckle was quiet. “Shall we go?” he whispered. “You look like you’ve had enough, and I know I have.”
George glanced about the room. The guests all sat at their places, politely waiting.
He opened his mouth to suggest to Theo that they should only leave once their hosts had signalled the meal was at an end, but then he glanced at Hewitt.
The man didn't look as though he was going to bring matters to a close any time soon.
He was holding forth on some topic to his long-suffering neighbours, enjoying the sound of his own voice.
For the second time that day, George decided he wasn’t going to do the right thing.
“Yes,” he said firmly, meeting Theo’s gaze. “I’m more than ready to leave.”