Chapter 29
THEO
George didn’t come to Theo’s bed that night.
Theo oughtn’t to have been surprised after their argument. But still he lay awake for ages, waiting and brooding over their disagreement, trying to recall the exact words he’d uttered in the heat of the moment.
At first he could only think about George’s inability to see his point of view.
Could George not understand how mortified Theo had been by his offer to loan him money?
Worse even than that had been the awful suspicion that George might believe that was why Theo had invited him to Blackfriars in the first place.
Above anything else, it had seemed vital to Theo to make it crystal clear that that had never been the case.
Theo didn’t want George’s money, and he wasn’t looking to George to solve his problems.
As the hours passed, though, and sleep continued to evade him, he found himself dwelling less on the particular words they’d exchanged and more on George’s reactions.
The swift withering of his hopeful eagerness when Theo had immediately rejected his offer.
The wounded expression in his dark gaze—not angry, but hurt.
Theo wished he could remember exactly what he’d said to make George look like that, but in the heat of the moment, it had all happened so quickly.
And now he was left confused and regretful.
How had it all gone so suddenly and terribly wrong?
He was being punished for it now, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, all because George wasn’t lying beside him as he had every night for the last number of weeks.
It was almost funny to find himself in this predicament—he who had insisted he would never bed the same man twice, or sleep through the night with any lover.
Yet here he was, unable to find any rest because George was not here with him, and in his absence, the bed was vast and empty and horribly lonely.
Theo’s stomach clenched as he stared up at the ceiling, horror gnawing at him. How—when—had George become so necessary to him?
Perhaps when you abandoned every rule for him, a small and unpleasantly familiar voice whispered inside him. Rules that have served you well for years.
As much as he hated that voice, what it said was undeniably true. Over these last weeks, Theo had let slide so many of the rules he’d once been meticulous in sticking to. He’d let George get close to him in a way he’d never allowed anyone else to before.
Why had he done it?
His motto had always been live for today.
He walked through life with a light step, never settling down anywhere, always moving on to the next thing, the next lover.
He’d told himself it was because variety was the spice of life, because you only live once, because he wanted to experience everything the world had to offer.
Was that really why, though?
Theo moaned, covering his face with his hands. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. He’d let his guard down, opening his heart to George.
And had lost it in the process.
He’d broken so many rules with George. He’d done it with a just this once and an it’s only for a few weeks and a score of other weak excuses he’d made to himself every time he felt a twinge of unease over his own weakness.
And look where it had brought him—staring at the ceiling at three in the morning with his stomach in knots because his lover had spent the night in a different bed and was upset with him.
And oh, hell. George really was upset with him, wasn’t he? He hadn’t said so, but Theo had seen it on his face when he strode out of the dining room. Theo had hurt George's feelings with his stupid, hasty words, and now he could only stew over how to mend things between them.
Because one thing at least was clear to him. He might not have the faintest idea how to do it, but he had to mend things with George.
He had to.
But by the time Theo finally fell asleep, the sky was beginning to lighten and the dawn chorus was starting, and he still had no idea how to fix things.
* * *
For the second morning in a row, Theo woke later than usual, thanks to the long, sleepless hours of the night before. His head ached, and his eyes felt gritty, but the clock on the mantel told him it was already nine o’clock, and that had him pushing back the bedcovers with a groan.
He headed straight for the door that connected his own bedchamber to George’s, knocking at the wood panelling and calling his name. When there was no answer, he opened the door, unsurprised to find George’s room empty and the drapes pulled open, sunshine streaming in through the window.
Returning to his own room, he quickly washed and dressed before hurrying downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, he found Mrs. Ford kneading dough at the table.
She looked up with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Caldwell. Did you sleep well?”
“Do you know where Mr. Asquith is?” he asked, without answering her.
“He was up at his usual time,” Mrs. Ford said. “He went out to meet Mr. Morgan, but he didn’t eat before he went. He said he’d come back for breakfast since Mr. Hughes will be by with the post this morning."
They only received post at Blackfriars once a week. There was usually something for George, who received regular letters from his family.
It had made Theo realise how rarely he received correspondence from his own family, reminding him unpleasantly of his time at boarding school. It probably wasn’t the case that every boy other than Theo received letters and parcels each week, but it had felt like it, at the time.
Theo’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of uneven steps entering the kitchen behind him. He turned to find Martin hovering in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Martin,” Mrs. Ford said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Not too bad,” Martin said. “Though I slept quite late.” He glanced at Theo, and his one-sided smile made an appearance. “But I see I’m not the only one.”
“Not by a long shot,” Theo agreed. “I’m down here to scrounge a late breakfast from Mrs. Ford.”
“It’s hardly late,” Mrs. Ford said. “Go on through to the dining room, the pair of you. Mr. Asquith should be getting back any time now so I’ll get you all fed together.”
“Would you like an arm through to the dining room?” Theo asked Martin.
“May as well, I suppose,” Martin said, hooking his left hand around Theo’s elbow while gripping his cane in his right.
They started down the corridor, Theo matching his pace to the other man’s. Martin seemed to be moving particularly slowly today. His expression was drawn too, his complexion a waxy grey.
“How did you sleep?” Theo asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
“Not well,” Martin admitted. “I have much on my mind.”
Theo frowned. “You mustn’t worry about the future. It won’t help you get better.”
Martin sighed. “With the greatest respect, you do not understand my position. I was born into very poor circumstances. I know what happens to the ill and the destitute.”
“That’s as may be, but you're not destitute,” Theo said firmly, gently steering him into the dining room and towards the nearest chair at the head of the table.
“And you never will be. You have savings, and even if you did not, you have friends. I, for one, will not abandon you, I promise you that.”
Martin blinked and looked away, his throat working with emotion. Tactfully, Theo did not try to meet his gaze but concentrated on getting him situated, bracing the man’s weight as he helped him slowly ease down into one of the dining chairs.
He had just released Martin’s arms and was straightening when someone else entered the room.
George.
Theo’s mouth went dry. He did not look like a duke today, in his working clothes and with his too-long hair made unruly by the breeze. He looked young and very handsome. And a little wary.
“Good morning,” George said politely, including both men in his greeting, though his gaze slid away from Theo’s when Theo tried to catch his eye.
“Good morning, Mr. Asquith,” Martin said, shifting his position in the chair with a faint grunt of pain. “How fares my farm today?”
“Admirably,” George replied, his stiff smile transforming into something a mite more natural. “Morgan has the labourers working on your east field today. They’re making good progress—we reckon two more days will do it, if the weather holds. Then Morgan’ll get them started on his place.”
“That's good,” Martin replied, visibly cheered by this news. “Morgan’s generous to have set them to work on my fields before doing his own.”
“He’s a good neighbour,” George agreed, sliding into the chair to the left of Martin, opposite Theo. “I’ll go back there this afternoon to give him a break.”
“You’re a good man too, Mr. Asquith,” Martin said, his eyes glimmering suddenly with unshed tears. “You and Mr. Caldwell both.”
Thankfully, Tom entered the dining room before Martin's eyes could start leaking again. He carried a tray containing a huge pot of tea, a basket of bread and all manner of butter and conserves.
As soon as he set the tray down, Theo took hold of the teapot and began pouring tea for all of them.
“How is your leg today?” George asked Martin. “You mentioned it was painful yesterday.”
“Still is.” Martin sighed. “I’ve got shooting pains in both legs. My head too.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” George said, frowning. “Perhaps Mrs. Ford has some laudanum, or another pain cure?”
Martin began to tell him about the powders Mrs. Ford had been giving him, and their efficacy, while Theo looked on.
He tried to listen, but his attention kept drifting to George.
Just looking at him made Theo’s heart beat faster and his chest ache.
He wished they were alone. He wanted to talk to George about last night, even as the thought of talking about it filled him with dread.