Chapter 18 #2
George sighed, leaning his head back to look up at the sky.
“That summer, when Ollie’s father sent me home, he gave me a letter for my father.
As soon as I got back, I went straight to his study with it.
All the time he was reading it, he was frowning.
” He shook his head miserably. “I felt so ashamed.”
“What did the letter say?”
George shrugged. “I don’t know. When my father finished reading it, he just crumpled it into a ball and said, Don’t do it again, without even looking at me.
Then he threw the letter on the fire. It was never mentioned again.
I assumed Sir Joseph had told him that he’d caught Ollie and I together.
But apparently the letter didn’t mention it at all—just something vague about inappropriate behaviour that he suggested my father punish me for. ”
“And did he? Punish you?”
George gave a half-smile. “No. He wasn’t convinced I’d done anything that merited punishment—I was always such a good boy, you see—so he just said what he said and considered the matter dealt with. I daresay he’d forgotten all about it after a few days.”
“You didn’t forget, though,” Theo said, knowing that George would have taken those mildly chastising words far too much to heart. He would have tried to do as his father asked, no matter the cost to himself.
“No,” George admitted. “I didn’t forget.”
“So how did you find out the truth?”
George glanced at him, his mouth crooking in a half-smile.
“Last year, Freddy discovered that something was going on between my father and Kit, and… well, he just came out with it. Asked my father outright if he was like me.” He gave a huff of laughter.
“Poor Freddy was quite shocked when he realised my father had no idea what he was talking about.”
“What happened then? Did your father speak to you about it?”
George sighed. “Oh, yes. It was all my father wanted to talk to me about for weeks on end—the not knowing about me before Freddy told him, and about his own nature and how unhappy ignoring it had made him. About how content he was with Kit.” He broke off, sending Theo an amused look.
“I think he expected me to be ecstatic when he told me Kit was coming to live with us.”
“You weren’t ecstatic?”
“I didn’t mind, but no, not ecstatic.” George paused.
“My father meant well, but it bothered me that he thought what had happened to him somehow made everything right for me. As though I could change how I felt about myself just on the strength of that. Change the whole direction of my life.” He frowned.
“It’s all very well telling your son and heir that he doesn’t need to marry, but what then? ”
“Were you angry?”
George shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that.
It was more like… like he’d swept my feet out from under me.
I’d spent years convincing myself that my desires were selfish and that I would find a deeper, more satisfying happiness by marrying and embracing my position in life.
And then, in a moment, all that was upended.
I didn’t really know what to do with myself. ”
“You could still have that life,” Theo pointed out. “If you think that marriage would make you happier.”
“I could,” George agreed. “But before, I’d have been doing it to be the perfect son and heir.
If I did it now, it would have to be because I was choosing it.
Because I believed it really would be the best thing for me.
” He gave a harsh laugh and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Freedom sounds wonderful in theory, but sometimes it’s easier to have no choice. ”
Theo gave a dry, humourless chuckle. “I’m not sure there’s any such thing as real choice. The only person who is truly free is the one who cares nothing for consequences.”
“Is that why you go off travelling alone and hardly ever bed the same man twice?” George asked. “To avoid consequences?”
Theo blinked, seeming taken aback by his, admittedly rude, question. Then he rallied. “I’ve bedded you twice, haven’t I?”
“True,” George said mildly, though he felt his face warm. “And look at us now, sharing our secrets.”
“Just your secrets,” Theo countered.
George’s throat felt thick. “Do you think so?” he whispered.
Theo looked away. After a moment, he began to pack up the remains of their meal.
George thought the conversation was over, so he was surprised when Theo said quietly, “Perhaps it wasn’t resentment you felt. Perhaps it was envy. Seeing your father and Redford happy together.”
George felt both as though he’d been struck and seen, right to the heart of him, in the same moment. At last he said, “You might be right. I couldn’t see them together without thinking, I’ll never have that. I’ll never matter to someone the way my father and Kit matter to one another.”
Theo's expression barely changed, but his hazel gaze softened. “You matter, George,” he said firmly. “And you don’t need another person to tell you so to make it true.”
George swallowed hard, a thick clod of hurt in his throat. “No? I’m not sure I agree. What do we matter at all if we don’t matter to other people? What else gives our lives meaning?”
“You can matter to yourself,” Theo said fiercely, his strong brows furrowed.
“You can find meaning in what you do instead of what other people think of you.” He gestured at the vast horizon stretching out before them.
“You can find meaning in this. The truth is you don’t really need other people at all. ”
Theo shifted his big body so that they were sitting side by side, their thighs touching, both looking out at the vast valley below them.
“Not having someone isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Theo said after a while.
“It can be good. It means you don’t have to answer to anyone else, and that you’re free to do as you wish.
If you take a notion into your head to—oh, I don’t know, go on an expedition to the Grindelwald—you can get up and leave, and there’s no one to tell you not to. ”
George smiled, but it was wistful. “I think we’re quite different, in that respect,” he said.
“Going off to the Grindelwald on my own sounds exciting but also rather lonely. I think I want someone to answer to. Someone who might get annoyed, or worried, if I told them I intended to go off on an Alpine expedition on my own.”
Someone he would matter to.
Theo nodded. “You’re right, George,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “In that respect, we’re quite different.”