Chapter 34
GEORGE
Ollie had promised, in his recent letter, that he would visit George in Wiltshire, but somehow George had put that detail out of his mind.
Or perhaps it was rather that his mind had no remaining capacity to hold it, too caught up with what had happened at Blackfriars, and what Theo was thinking and doing now.
Consequently, when he returned from a long walk one morning to the news that Mr. Oliver Fletcher had arrived and was waiting to see him, George was more surprised than he probably ought to have been.
The footman had shown Ollie into the sitting room in the east wing.
It was a room that got the morning sun and had been a great favourite of his mother’s.
Her piano was in there, and George had fond memories of playing with his toys on the rug while she practised.
As he made his way there on leaden feet, he found himself wishing that the butler had shown Ollie into some other room to wait.
When George entered, it was to find Ollie standing with his back to the door, gazing out at the extensive grounds. At the sound of George’s step, he wheeled around.
“George!” he exclaimed, and his smile was wide and genuine-seeming. “God, it’s good to see you!” He took several steps towards George, then came to an uncertain halt.
“Hello, Fletch,” George said, a little awkwardly. It had not escaped his notice that Ollie had reverted to using his first name, but even though he privately thought of him as Ollie, he could not quite bring himself to reciprocate. “What brings you to Wiltshire?”
Ollie frowned, but it was an amused frown, rather than an angry one. The fond, exasperated frown you direct at a friend who’s being rather dense. “You do, you dolt! Didn’t you get my letter?”
“I did get it,” George said. “I just thought you might wait for an invitation before you came.”
The fond exasperation melted away, leaving Ollie looking uncertain. “I—well, I rather thought, since we’ve been friends for so long, that I had an open invitation.” He paused, then added in a faintly injured tone, “I’m sorry if I presumed too much.”
Two things occurred to George in that moment. The first was that he’d just been given a very familiar cue—his role now was to rush to reassure Ollie. The second was that he wasn’t in the mood for that particular game. Instead, he said slowly, “Is that what we are? Friends?”
Ollie blinked, plainly surprised by George’s cool reaction. “Of course we’re friends!” he exclaimed. “You’re my dearest friend in the world!”
“Am I?”
“Yes!” Ollie eyed him with something that looked like disbelief; then he heaved a put-upon sigh. “Are you still in a snit over the wedding? I thought, when I called at your house the day after, that you seemed peevish, but I presumed you’d have got over it by now. It’s been months.”
Peevish? George pressed his lips together, annoyed. “I was never in a snit, Ollie,” he said coolly. “I was upset that you’d been avoiding me for months. I naturally assumed our friendship was over and—”
“That’s absurd!” Ollie interrupted hotly, only to close his eyes and visibly try to bring himself under control. “George, please,” he tried again, his tone wheedling. “That was just a stupid misunderstanding. I’m sorry that’s how you interpreted my actions, but it was not what I intended.”
George stared at him, saying nothing.
“Perhaps I was a little too single-minded about courting Cecily,” Ollie went on.
“And perhaps I inadvertently said some hurtful things. But you know how badly my family needed money. And it was terribly distracting for me, having you around. How could I concentrate on finding a bride when you were always there?”
George tried to ignore the pointless wave of resentment that washed over him. “Why are you here, Ollie? What exactly is it that you want?”
“I want my friend back,” Ollie said. “I’ve missed your company.” He sent George a pleading look. “Haven’t you missed mine? We used to spend so much time together.”
“We did, but you have a wife now,” George replied. “And I really don’t think she’d want you to go back to spending so much time with me.”
“What Cecily wants is neither here nor there.”
“How can you say that? She’s your wife.”
Ollie gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. Cecily doesn’t need you to champion her. She’s getting what she wants from this marriage, same as all the other Hewitts. But I mean to get what I want too.”
“And what’s that?”
Lightly, Ollie said, “Only my due, George. The life of a gentleman. I don’t ask for much: a decent wardrobe, a reasonable stable, enough funds to play a few hands of cards in my club.
My own friends and interests. And now that I have a decent quarterly allowance, I can afford those things.
” He offered George a grin. “Wait till you see my new racing curricle and matched bays. They’re in your stable—I’ll show you them later. ”
George could only gaze at him wordlessly, noting that Ollie looked different today.
George mightn't know much about fashion, but even he could see that Ollie’s coat was the height of elegance and that his cravat was highly starched and tied in a complicated manner.
There were several ornate rings on his hands too, which were new, and his cravat pin bore a large stone, a ruby by the look of it, gleaming darkly in the folds of linen at his throat.
George had known Ollie wanted these things—God knew he’d bemoaned his lack of funds a thousand times, so this shouldn’t have been a surprise, but he couldn’t understand why Ollie thought George would be interested. It only made George more aware of the differences between them.
“I’m really not sure what you want from me,” George said honestly. “I’m not interested in fashion or society. Or gambling or racing curricles. You know that.”
A strange silence descended. And then Ollie said, very quietly, “We do have one mutual interest.”
George stared at him. He was scarcely breathing now. Surely Ollie wasn’t talking about…
“I didn’t feel able to indulge before,” Ollie continued, his gaze averted, pink staining his cheekbones.
“But now that I’m married and Cecily’s with child…
” He trailed off meaningfully. When George stayed silent, he glanced at him, adding hastily, “The main risk is exposure. One is so vulnerable to unscrupulous people. But, if we’re sensible, we could rely on one another to be discreet, couldn’t we? ”
George eyed him incredulously. “I thought it was because of my supposed lack of discretion that you felt the need to ask me to leave London?”
Ollie plainly heard the note of bitterness in George’s voice.
He winced visibly. “Don’t be offended,” he said, “but you can be rather na?ve, George. I do know that you would never intentionally expose me. And I would set up the arrangements with exceptional care, so I could—we both could—be certain of complete discretion. You know I can be trusted to take a secret like that to the grave.”
George shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry—where has this come from? For years you’ve said it’s only women you want. You insisted that you didn’t desire men in that way. That you didn’t share my flaw. That was the term you used, wasn’t it?”
Ollie flushed still deeper, but his jaw hardened.
“I had no choice, George. I had no income, and my inheritance was an estate that was already mortgaged to the hilt. I had to secure my position before anything else. I couldn’t take the risk of being discovered before I married.
Christ, don’t you read the newspapers? If you’re discovered with another man, you may as well jump in the river. ”
“If that’s how you feel, why take the risk now?”
Ollie’s smile was tight. “Once you have money, you can buy privacy. If you choose your partner carefully—someone you trust—you can reduce the risk to almost nothing.”
“Is that why you’re here? Because, if nothing else, you at least trust me not to expose you?”
Ollie eyed him wordlessly. At last he said, “Well, let’s be honest. We both have as much to lose as the other.”
“I see,” George said flatly. “It’s not because you want me in particular then. It's because you think I’m an acceptable risk. Do I have that correct?”
To his surprise, Ollie’s tight, angry expression crumbled, leaving him looking momentarily lost. He raised a hand and rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck.
“What I think,” he said at last, “is that I’ve bungled this badly.
I thought…” He looked up, meeting George’s gaze before saying quietly, “I thought you cared for me, George. Was I wrong?”
All at once, George was overwhelmed with sadness. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I did care for you, for a long time. But things have changed. I’ve changed. And I’ve realised there are things I need that you can’t give me.”
Ollie’s gaze was wary now. “What things?”
George swallowed. “To be loved. To have someone. Someone who is… there.” When Ollie said nothing, only stared at him, George added.
“You’re talking about something different.
Seeing each other every now and again, but mostly living our lives apart.
And lately I’ve come to realise that I wouldn’t do well with such an arrangement.
In fact, if I’m honest, I think it would make me deeply unhappy. ”
Ollie was frowning now, seeming puzzled and irritated in equal measure. “George, do you honestly think anyone could give you what you want? To live a life like that would be to live in the constant shadow of exposure.”
“Yet people do live that life,” George said gently. “Finding joy together in spite of the risk they run.”
“Well, good for them,” Ollie said shortly. “But if you go down that path, I fear—I fear our friendship would have to end. I cannot risk being associated with a suspected sodomite.”
“I see.” George said quietly. “So, if that is how I intend to live from now on, I should not count upon your continuing friendship?”