Chapter 25
Petey
Before that night, I had known lust. I had known sex.
I had known the throwaway junk food diet of cheap gratification that was endless hook-ups and meetups and nights under the Vauxhall railway arches.
A world where I was comfortable and in control.
Where the sex was on tap and incredible and nobody got emotionally involved.
I thought I knew everything attraction entailed—a headless torso on an app, a lustful glance on a dance floor, a naked body in a darkroom.
But I had no idea. No one had made me ache for them like William had. And all he’d done was kiss me.
We walked back along the path beside the Long Water. The gravel was digging into the soles of my feet. William suggested I walk on the lawn, but the grass was cold and slimy.
“Hop on,” he said, and he gave me a piggyback all the way to the house. I expected him to put me down in the doorway, but he didn’t. He carried me up three flights of stairs and along the corridor and deposited me on the tiles in my bathroom.
“That’s an incredible service, my lord—does everyone get this kind of treatment?”
“I believe we did something similar for Charles the First. Churchill, probably. Mostly to stop him circling back via the cellar after dinner en route to his bedroom.” William leant against the door frame, not taking his eyes off me.
“But, no, only really special people get to ride the old Buckford chariot.”
Knowing his family’s comfort around nudity, I took a punt and let my wet briefs slide to the floor.
There was very little William hadn’t already seen, or been able to make out, in any case.
William looked me up and down like I was a precious exhibit in a glass cabinet.
I’d never felt so exposed—or so exhilarated.
No one had ever looked at me the way he looked at me.
It wasn’t lust, which I’d experienced plenty of times before, but wonder.
His chest heaved as he breathed. Then he looked over my shoulder and into the mirror.
“You have duckweed on your back.”
“Oh.” I turned around and watched in the reflection as William stepped towards me and removed it as gently as if he were unlacing a gown.
He held it up to show me, then dropped it into the wastebasket.
His eyes never left mine. His hands held my hips and he pulled himself towards me, nestling against my buttocks and back. Softly, he kissed my neck.
“Is this… OK?”
“Yes.” I felt his wet hair against my neck and leant into it. “It’s always OK, William. You don’t need to ask.”
“You do me an honour,” he whispered, like a hero from one of his books—a character from a different time, with a different moral code.
From anyone else, it would have sounded ridiculous.
A teenager’s idea of chivalry. But I knew William meant it.
He felt honoured to be allowed to touch me, like it was something he had earned, a gift I had given him.
I suppose it felt like that to me, too—because I’d never been touched like this before.
A new heat boiled up inside me, molten and intense, like lava.
“Let’s get you warm,” William said, kissing my shoulder and releasing me.
He let his boxer shorts slide to the floor, turned on the shower taps, and gestured for me to join him under the thundering water.
I ached to feel him inside me, to feel as close to William physically as I felt emotionally.
But he did not give that to me. He took the bar of rose-and-geranium soap and, as the steam billowed around us, explored my body with what I can only describe as reverence.
I had never felt so adored, so desired, in all my life.
It felt powerful—and I never wanted it to end.
Late the next morning, I walked into the production office to a knowing smile from Indira. Indira smiling made me feel extremely uncomfortable.
“I keep meaning to ask how things are going with Lord Cockchug up in that love turret of yours?”
I shrugged, playing it so cool I could have sunk the Titanic. “Fine. Why?”
“Anything I should know about?”
“I don’t think so.” I slid into a chair in front of one of the computers.
Indira turned her screen to face me and hit the space bar on her keyboard. Footage of a basically naked me riding through the house on a basically naked William played out on the monitor. I felt my heart stop. I had been so caught up in the moment, I hadn’t given the cameras a second thought.
“Are you sure about that?” she said.
It took me too long to reply. “Of course. We’re totally committed to the whole fake-fiancé act.”
“Ah, so you were doing this for the good of the production.”
I embraced this life raft enthusiastically. “You know me. Anything for the show.”
“Petey Boy, I’m not a fucking idiot. He’s not a member of the cast or crew. You’re not breaking any rules. This isn’t an HR issue. I simply want to know if you’re banging him.”
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how to answer. “Why?”
“Because the team has been running a book, and I’ve got twenty quid on at five to one to say you are. The odds have now significantly shortened.”
Jonty burst into the room—face wild, shirt buttons in all the wrong holes.
“You have to help me, this is an emergency.”
I jumped up. “What is it, do you need a medic?”
“A lobotomist, perhaps?” Indira added.
Jonty was flailing. “It can’t wait a minute longer. I have to marry her right now or I’m literally going to die.”
I sighed. “Jonty, this area is crew only. You know the rules—”
“Sod the bloody rules, Peter, this is an emergency. Zoe is onto us. If you don’t let me marry Lola now, she’s going to squeal like a stuck pig, and Lola and I will be dismissed.
I will not risk being sent home for want of a fictional piece of paper.
What Lola and I have is real, and it’s too precious to end like this.
It’s unfair. It’s unconstitutional. I beg you, remove this sword of Damocles hanging over our heads.
Marry us. Today. Please. Before my loins set fire to something. ”
Indira was playing it cool, but I could see she was screaming internally.
Two weddings? It was everything she could have hoped for.
Under the rules of the show, before two servants could marry, they had to stand before Queen Dorinda to make their case.
If she believed their connection was genuine and gave her blessing, the couple could be fake married in the fake Regency style befitting their fake status.
If she didn’t believe them, they would be sent home.
Of course, Dorinda believed whatever Indira told her to believe.
Indira’s face was hard, expressionless, and turning a very unhealthy shade of burgundy. It had been turning that colour a lot lately.
“Dorinda’s already on standby for Armando and Ridhi,” I said, ever the loyal wingman. “Unit Three comes on at two o’clock. Technically we could film it this afternoon.”
“Oh, fuck yes. Let’s gazump the other two.” Indira pumped her fist. “Genius. Ridhi will lose her shit. Let’s do it.”
Jonty jumped up and down, shouting his thank yous and praising Indira for her common sense.
He threw his arms around me, cheering like he’d won the National Lottery.
Indira grabbed her walkie-talkie and screeched for the costume department, then fished around in her cigarette packet and, yet again, lit two at once.
Jonty and Lola Q were fake married by three o’clock that afternoon in a simple but enthusiastic ceremony in the Buckford chapel, then bounced around each other like coked-up bunny rabbits for the rest of the day.
Ridhi and Armando were fake married twenty-four hours later.
What the latter couple lacked in genuine enthusiasm, the production team made up for in sheer bloody spectacle.
It made recent royal weddings look like quickie jobs thrown together from the Argos catalogue.
For me, the next few days passed like a dream.
I’d work all day, then each evening William and I would sit around in the folly, notepads on our knees, coming up with ideas for shows and ways to make money for the estate.
“Your mum,” I said on the third night. William looked up from his notes, bathed in golden light from the reading lamp. “What are her friends like?”
“Every bit as unhinged as you’d imagine. Why?”
“I was thinking about a Real Housewives–type concept, but with real lords and ladies all going for each other’s throats. Like, Dynasty but if Joan Collins was a duchess.”
William stared at me blankly. “Who’s Joan Collins?”
I had to steady myself in case I fell out of my armchair.
“I can see that was the wrong answer. Shall we pretend I didn’t say that?”
I shook my head. “I’m wondering if there’s like… a gay school we can enrol you in.”
William bucked his shoulders. “In any case, we don’t really mix with that kind of society. I think you’d struggle to find anyone who moves in those circles who’d want to, shall we say, let the sunshine in.”
Damn. He was right. My own family wouldn’t agree to it either. I had five days until filming wrapped up, and Indira would be expecting to hear my big pitch.
“By the way, I looked into environmental and heritage grants today,” William said. “I reckon there’s a few hundred thousand we could apply for.”
“You can’t use grant money to pay the tax man.”
“No, but if the grants can pay for work we were doing anyway, that frees up capital to send to His Majesty.”
William was starting to think like a grifting businessman, and I felt genuinely proud of him.
“Oh, and I’ve got a woman coming up from the village tomorrow morning to talk about starting a riding school here.”
“William, that’s wonderful.”
The next day was my day off. William got me out of bed early, and we rode out across the estate to see the otter cubs playing in the River Buck.
It had been worth the wait to finally see them.
The mummy otter appeared incredibly proud—and no surprise.
If I could create something so unbearably cute, I’d be pumping out two or three a year myself.
William and I spent the day hanging out in the folly, then went into the village pub in the evening to watch the Ireland v England rugby match.
As William drove us back to Buckford, he reached across and rested his enormous hand on my leg.
My heart almost burst through the windscreen, and my cock was instantly at full mast. I looked over at him, and his eyes met mine briefly.
“I hope you’ve had a good day,” he said, “experiencing all the delights of the estate and village life.”
“I did.” I let my hand rest on his.
“It gets under your skin, this place,” he said. “My father used to say Buckford magnetises the blood, so you constantly feel the pull of the place, wherever you are in the world.”
I squeezed his hand, unsure where this was going. “That’s very sweet.”
“The longer people stay, they more they yearn for the place and ache to return.”
“Well, I can understand that,” I said.
“You can?” William looked across at me again, eyes bright.
“Of course. I feel the same about London.”
William’s eyes returned to the road. An oncoming car momentarily lit the cabin of the Range Rover, then it plunged back into darkness.
“I miss it,” I said, “being so far away from it. My gran, my mates.” I laughed, remembering our big nights out at Miss Timmy’s in Soho—Old Compton Street’s most popular gender-nonconforming restaurant and cabaret venue. “Have you ever been to a drag show?”
William shook his head. “I’ve been to a few rugby club revues where the lads dress up.”
“Not the same. When you come down to London, we’ll get a jump start on your gay education, and you can come to Miss Timmy’s and see Sandy Crotch in action.”
William stiffened. His hand, which had been tenderly holding my leg, set like stone, resting there like dead weight. I moved my hand from his, and he placed his back on the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the car had suddenly become weird and tense.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t go to London.”
“But you’ve been there before—”
“Anymore.” He tapped the steering wheel, keeping his eyes forward.
“Never?” Jonty had said he hadn’t visited, but I didn’t realise it was policy. William shook his head. “Are you saying when I go back to London, you won’t come to visit me?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Like, ever?”
“It’s not about you. I just can’t go back there, all right?”
This was ridiculous.
“Is this because of the rugby trip? The one when your dad died?”
“Leave it, all right?” He banged the steering wheel with his hand. Then seemed to check himself, balling his hand, then unclenching and tapping it against the wheel more gently. “Sorry. Would you mind if we dropped it for now?”
The headlights of an oncoming lorry lit up the inside of the car, catching the water in William’s eyes.
“Of course,” I said, remembering Bunny’s words about William avoiding life’s stronger emotions.
I was beginning to realise how massively avoidant he was in general.
As we drove along in silence, a very different thought took hold.
What kind of future could we possibly build together after the cameras stopped rolling?
Was this thing between us over before it even got started?