Chapter 34 #2
Ollie had the grace to flush, and drop his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But if you were ever exposed, I could not risk my name being linked with yours.”
George eyed his old friend sadly. He could see that Ollie was sorry, even if it was mostly for selfish reasons.
He understood too. He knew what it was to have desires that terrified you, and filled you with yearning at the same time.
Desires that made you wonder how you were going to play this part for all your life, always keeping a crucial part of yourself hidden from others.
Losing his heart to Theo Caldwell may have been painful, but in that moment, George realised that he would not undo these last weeks for anything.
In that time, he’d had Theo all to himself, spending every night in his bed and giving himself in return.
It had been like having a huge bowl of perfect strawberries to eat, after years and years of storing up whatever tiny bits of stale, old crumbs he could find.
In the end, there had been no choice but to gorge himself, or lose out altogether when the fruit spoiled.
He’d learned a lesson from it. Better to be well fed for a single summer than live a lifetime on nothing but crumbs. Theo might not want him forever, but when they’d been together, George had had all of his attention. He had been fulfilled and sated in a way he’d never been before.
With Ollie there would only ever be crumbs, no matter how much he insisted he wanted George and cared for him.
“I shouldn’t have come,” Ollie was saying now, his mouth tightening.
“I shouldn’t have even let myself think about this.
I’ve managed to keep it back for all these years, and I thought I could just continue on like that.
But then there was the wedding, and I saw you again, and in the weeks afterwards—” His eyes were wet now, and he shook his head wordlessly, seeming unable to find the words to complete his thoughts.
“Ollie,” George whispered.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. That’s when I wrote the letter. Christ, I can’t believe what I put in it! What was I thinking?” He groaned, sounding agonised, and pressed his hands to his face, scrubbing at the skin. “How could I take a risk like that?”
George tried to think of something, anything, he could say that might calm him. At last, he offered tentatively, “Do you want me to destroy the letter?”
For a moment, Ollie stared at him. Then, cheeks pink with shame, he whispered, “Yes. Please.”
George bade him sit, while he fetched the letter from his bedchamber. When he returned to the sitting room, Ollie was visibly shaking.
“Do you want to do it?” George asked, holding the letter out to him. Ollie nodded and took it. Then he looked it over, as though checking that all the words were there. Finally, steeling himself, he set about tearing it into strips, and then into smaller pieces.
“Can we burn the scraps?” he asked when he was done, his voice very quiet.
“Of course,” George said.
Together they burned the little pile of paper scraps away to nothing, until there was nothing but a few grey wisps of ash left.
* * *
An hour later, George and Ollie stood together at the front of the house, while Ollie’s carriage was brought round.
“Will you give my best wishes to your brother?” Ollie said politely. “I do hope he recovers soon. It sounds like he sustained some nasty injuries.”
“He did, but he’s making progress,” George replied, equally polite. “I’ll pass on your regards.”
It felt as though they were strangers. As though that painful conversation in the sitting room hadn’t happened. As though they hadn’t burned Ollie’s letter together.
George could feel nothing but relief when he finally heard the rumble of wheels coming around from the stable block. A moment later, Ollie’s carriage came into view, his driver perched on top, one of the grooms walking alongside.
Ollie turned to face George. “Well,” he said, making a painful attempt at a smile. “I suppose—”
But whatever it was Ollie supposed at that moment, George never found out, because just then came the sound of approaching hooves. He and Ollie both turned their heads to see a horseman coming around the bed of the long, sweeping drive.
Despite the distance, George knew who it was instantly. Something about the man’s posture, the way he held himself.
Theo Caldwell.
Theo.
George’s heart began to pound in his chest.
“It seems you have a visitor,” Ollie said, gaze narrowing as he peered down the drive. He hadn’t realised who it was yet.
“Yes,” George agreed faintly. His mouth felt dry, his throat thick. Confusion and joy and nerves all rose in him at once. Why was Theo here?
And God, why couldn’t Ollie’s coachman have brought the carriage around just a few minutes earlier?
“Good lord,” Ollie said. “Is that Caldwell? What’s he doing here?” He was scowling now, his expression almost accusatory when he turned to George and demanded, “Aren’t you just back from visiting him?”
Thankfully, George was spared the need to answer that question by Theo drawing closer.
He slowed his mount to a gradual stop, then gracefully dismounted, his lean body loose as he jumped to the ground.
The waiting groom stepped forward, catching the reins that Theo tossed towards him. Then Theo was striding towards them.
At first, his gaze was fixed on George, his expression unreadable. A moment later, though, he recognised the other man standing at George's side and his step faltered.
“Theo,” George said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Theo’s gaze flickered between George and Ollie. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “Am I interrupting?”
George felt his face heat. “No!” he exclaimed.
At the exact same moment, Ollie said stiffly, “Actually, we were just taking our leave of one another.”
A flash of irritation went through George. Wasn’t that just typical of Ollie? Burning his letter to George to ashes one moment, then getting territorial the next.
Annoyed, he turned to Ollie, saying coolly, “I’m sorry, I thought we were done.”
Immediately, he realised he had offended the man.
Ollie reared back a little, clearly aggrieved by George’s tone.
But George could feel no regret, only a growing impatience.
More than anything, he just wanted Ollie to go so he could turn his attention fully to Theo.
Ask him why he was here. What he had come to say.
“I suppose you’re right, Sherry,” Ollie said finally. “We are done.” And with that, he stepped past George, ignoring Theo entirely, and climbed into the waiting carriage, pulling the door closed behind him.
George had no time to dwell on Ollie, though, because Theo was already stepping forward, moving into the space where Ollie had been standing, his intent gaze on George. And for the first time in a fortnight, George felt like he could breathe again.
“You’re here,” he husked, and despite everything—all his sorrow over leaving Blackfriars and all the uncertainties that plagued him still—he couldn’t stop a hesitant smile breaking out as he took in every detail of Theo’s dusty, worn, dear appearance.
“Yes,” Theo agreed, his own gaze raking over George with the same desperate hunger George felt.
Behind them, the coachman flicked the reins, urging the horses forward with a click of his tongue. The wheels of the carriage began to turn.
Ollie was leaving.
George spared a glance for the departing carriage, catching a last, fleeting glimpse of Ollie’s solitary figure through the window. And then the carriage was pulling away, the horses gaining speed.
And George could only feel relief.
“I’m sorry,” Theo said, when George turned back to him. “The timing of my arrival was very poor. Did I ruin the moment?”
George frowned. “Sorry?”
“You and Ollie. Your… farewell,” Theo said stiffly, his gaze sliding away.
“Our what?” George frowned, confused for a moment before understanding dawned and he gave a short laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about that. There was no moment to ruin.”
“No?” Theo’s gaze flickered back over to him, interested and watchful. Maybe even hopeful.
The groom had already gone, taking Theo’s mount to the stables, and now, George and Theo were alone, standing in front of the huge front doors of Avesbury House.
“Why are you here, Theo?” George croaked.
Theo stepped closer. Discreetly, he touched George’s hand with his own, letting their knuckles brush together, then hooking his pinkie around George’s. A shiver ran up George’s arm.
“I have things I must say to you,” Theo said in a low, urgent voice. “Can we go somewhere to speak privately?”
George’s heart was thudding, his body tense with nervous excitement. “Let’s go up to my rooms,” he said. “No one will interrupt us there.”