Chapter Seventeen
Bobby
“You’ve already had ten minutes—it’s my turn.”
“MissWilson is next, actually,” Mrs.Gilpe says, passing baby Frederic over to an already cooing MissWilson.
“You’re a horrid woman,” Mrs.Stelm says, even as she settles onto the arm of Mrs.Gilpe’s armchair, the two of them watching
MissWilson babble down at baby Frederic.
The doorbell rings and Bobby, Gwen, Beth, Uncle Dashiell, Albie, and Aunt Cordelia, seated around the low table, all look
toward the hall.
“One of you will have to get it, we’re watching the most important member of the family,” MissWilson says from her seat in
the corner by the fire. “Baby Frederic forbids us to leave.”
“I’ll go,” Bobby says, smiling as Beth and Gwen laugh on either side of Aunt Cordelia.
All three women look rather exhausted, even with their housekeeper and lady’s maids monopolizing the baby. He hasn’t experienced
it himself, but he knows babies disrupt the entire house, if you care about them at all. They could be leaving his care entirely
to their staff, but in the Havenfort home? Hardly likely. From what he’s heard, it’s been a fight each evening for who gets
to bring Aunt Cordelia the baby to nurse.
Bobby heads for the front door as the doorbell chimes again. It makes him wistful, all this joy. Makes him wish there had been another little Mason baby, before his mother passed away.
He’s decided he quite likes babies, even if they are messy, and sometimes smelly. Sitting and watching Frederic make a small
face or successfully wave his fist into his mouth is entrancing.
Bobby pulls open the door just as the doorbell chimes a third time. James Demeroven stands on the front stoop, hat beneath
his arm and sandy-brown hair falling into his eyes. He’s in a new gray traveling suit, nicely tailored, and he looks at Bobby,
equally at sea.
Bobby’s not sure why it’s caught him in the chest to see him on the doorstep, other than... they haven’t seen each other
in nearly two weeks, not since the stag night, and friends .
“Do... you and the girls need more time?” Demeroven asks.
Bobby blows out a breath. He was just... staring at the man, wasn’t he? “Sorry, sorry, they’re saying their goodbyes. Please,
come in.”
Bobby steps back so Demeroven can enter. He turns and closes the door, giving himself a moment. It’s like butterflies are
fighting with razor blades in his stomach. And if this is his reaction just to seeing the man, how is he supposed to survive
a day-long carriage ride with him?
“The family is in the sitting room,” he says, turning back to Demeroven with forced calm. “Have you met the baby yet?”
“Um, no,” Demeroven says, gesturing for Bobby to lead the way.
Bobby listens to Demeroven’s almost mouselike footfalls behind him. He leads Demeroven up the stairs, too many thoughts and
questions piling up against his tongue, none of them elegant. They pause at the doorway to the sitting room, glancing awkwardly
at each other. He has to say something, anything, just—
Before he manages even a word, Uncle Dashiell is up and ushering them in, clapping Demeroven on the back.
“James, please meet my son, Frederic,” he says, walking over to gently take the baby from a pouting Mrs.Stelm. “Oh, you’ll
have him to yourself once the rest leave.”
Mrs.Gilpe laughs and tugs Mrs.Stelm back onto the armchair to begin planning their week. Something about a tournament of
cards with the lord and lady.
Before he can listen for details, Bobby’s distracted by Demeroven approaching Uncle Dashiell and peering down at baby Frederic.
The baby still looks a little squashed and indistinct, though Bobby thinks he’ll have Aunt Cordelia’s nose, and the light
fuzz on his head does look like Uncle Dashiell’s blond.
“He’s a beautiful baby, sir,” Demeroven says.
Uncle Dashiell smiles and goes to hand him to Demeroven but Demeroven steps back, casting about the room for a viable reason
not to hold the baby. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s fear or panic, but he can’t leave the man out to dry.
“Oh, is it my turn?” he asks, swooping in to steal Frederic from Uncle Dashiell’s arms, cuddling the soft, squirmy little
boy close. “Yes, you just wanted your very favorite cousin, didn’t you?” he coos down at the baby.
“It is far too early for favorites,” Albie says from his seat in the armchair next to Beth. “I shall be teaching him to ride.”
“But I’ll be teaching him to fence—he’ll like that much better,” Gwen puts in quickly.
“He’ll be an archer, like me, actually,” Beth says. “And play duets with me and Mother.”
“Well, I’ll just have to teach him all the best hiding places in this house, then, won’t I?” Bobby says, putting his nose
in the air. “We’ll share secrets about the lot of you.”
“It sounds like he’ll have a most wonderful childhood,” Demeroven says.
The room turns to look at him and Uncle Dashiell pats his shoulder. “Perhaps you can teach him the manners the rest of your
peers seem to lack.”
“We are entirely proper all of the time every day,” Gwen says.
Aunt Cordelia snorts and Beth giggles, the two of them sharing a look.
“Fine. We’d best be going anyway,” Gwen says, standing and shrugging off Beth’s arm.
Beth rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss Aunt Cordelia’s cheek. Bobby looks down at baby Frederic while Albie and Demeroven
speak with Uncle Dashiell. He’d rather like to stay just like this, all of them safe and together in Uncle Dashiell’s house.
Frederic meets his eyes, staring up at him with that piercing blue gaze, as if he knows Bobby’s feeling vulnerable and wants
to comfort him.
“You’ll be good for your parents, won’t you?” he whispers, brushing his thumb along Frederic’s ear. “Don’t cry too much, and
try and smile. I know Aunt Cordelia would love it if you started making more of your little sounds. Beth and Gwen too. So
practice while we’re away, yeah?”
Frederic burbles and Bobby smiles, glancing up to find Demeroven watching him. He shrugs, a bit embarrassed, but Demeroven
just blushes and looks away.
“I promise, your mother will be fine. I’ll take excellent care of her, and Mrs.Gilpe, Mrs.Stelm, and MissWilson won’t let
anything happen to the baby,” Uncle Dashiell says.
Bobby turns back to the sitting area, watching Gwen and Beth stand together facing their parents. Their fingers are entwined
so tightly that their knuckles are going white.
As much as he might like to stay here with the whole family, the time away will likely do all of them some good. He decides then that he’ll make it his mission for Beth and Gwen to have as much fun as possible while at Mason Manor.
“Finally, my turn,” Mrs.Stelm says, gently plucking Frederic from his arms.
Bobby misses his warmth immediately. He didn’t know he could enjoy holding a baby so much. Frederic has made him antsy for
Albie and Meredith’s little one to arrive, as much for the joy of holding the baby as for Meredith’s health.
“All right, we really should be going if we want to get there before midnight,” Albie says, gently ushering Beth and Gwen
away from their parents. “I’ll send word once we’ve arrived.”
“Thank you,” Aunt Cordelia says, standing to hug Beth and Gwen before letting them go.
Bobby wraps his arm around Beth’s shoulders while Albie takes Gwen. Together they guide the anxious young ladies out of the
parlor, Demeroven bringing up the rear.
Bobby’s so focused on keeping Beth from crying that he doesn’t really think about the five of them being squashed together
in the carriage until Demeroven slides in beside him on the boys’ bench. It’s a tight fit, Demeroven’s thigh pressed hard
to his, their shoulders knocking together, as the carriage sets off at a gentle sway.
Bobby, Albie, and Demeroven sit watching awkwardly as Beth and Gwen stare out the windows, their jaws tight, hands still clenched
together, both of them breathing very determinedly. Bobby glances at Albie, who shrugs, looking about as helpless as he feels.
“How is working at the Foundling Hospital going?”
Beth and Gwen both turn to look at Demeroven, their eyes lighting up, and Bobby could bloody kiss him, just for that.
“Very well,” Beth says, her voice a little wobbly. “It’s so interesting, all the medicine, and it’s lovely to see so many babies born.”
“Professor Martin speaks very highly of Dr.Holting, and he seemed impressive when we met,” Demeroven says. “Are you getting
to work with him at all?”
“Some,” Gwen says, exchanging a look with Beth. “We’re not allowed to see any of the surgeries, but he does come to the maternity
ward now and again.”
“Lady Ashmond has tea with him regularly to discuss improvements to the hospital, though, so we do hear stories,” Beth adds.
“And how are things with Lady Ashmond?” Albie asks.
Gwen shifts a little in her seat, pulling Beth’s hand into her lap. Beth looks to Gwen and Gwen sighs. “She throws the most
amazing salon parties,” she says grumpily.
“Really?” Bobby wonders. Beth and Gwen go to salon parties?
“Really,” Gwen says, her surliness dissolving as she goes on. “She brings in all of these artisans and artists with wares
to sell. Some of them stay for cards, and the stories they tell—”
“She has a whole network made up of all classes; it’s really quite extraordinary,” Beth interjects.
“She wants to pair up entrepreneurial business owners with peer investors, particularly women and second sons—start creating
some independent wealth that has nothing to do with the peerage to spread around,” Gwen says.
Bobby glances at Albie, flabbergasted. “That’s... wonderful,” he says. Demeroven’s leaning forward in his seat with interest.
“When Mama’s out of confinement, we’re planning to bring her. I actually think they’d get along now,” Beth adds eagerly.
“She’s really taken the freedom of divorce and made something of her life,” Gwen continues. “Cordelia would definitely approve. And we should think about bringing along Miss Wilson—I think she’d enjoy meeting some new people as well.”
“That’s a great idea,” Beth says eagerly.
They go on to tell Albie and Demeroven about a recent gathering where they all discussed the Medical Act, but Bobby can’t
quite pay attention. He’s still stuck on Gwen’s acceptance of Lady Ashmond. He never thought she could accept Beth’s former
fiancé’s mother, especially since he knows Gwen would gladly let Lord Montson fall into a ditch given the chance.
He doesn’t think he could smile and be friendly with anyone, regardless of divorce, if their relatives were trying to steal
Demeroven away.
Not... not that it’s at all the same. Beth was engaged to Lord Montson, and Beth and Gwen are actually in love, and in
a committed relationship, and he and Demeroven are—
“Perhaps I’ll have to drag Mason along, then. I don’t think I could weather that kind of scrutiny,” Demeroven says.
Bobby looks up, finding the whole carriage watching him. He has no idea what he’s missed, only that apparently it involved
Demeroven wanting to go somewhere with him?
“Right, yes, I am, ah, a great buffer against... Who’s doing the scrutinizing?”
“Lady Ashmond. As I said, she’s quite intent on matchmaking,” Gwen says, giving him a look.
“And you want me to save you?” Bobby hears himself ask, gaping at Demeroven.
“Or at least let me use you as a shield,” Demeroven says, blue eyes twinkling, a real smile on his face.
Bobby forces himself to smile back, watching as if in a trance as Demeroven turns back to the conversation. There’s a swoon in his stomach and a tingle in his fingers at the mere mention of an outing with Demeroven.
There’s no denying it. All this time convincing himself it was just the security he wanted in a relationship, not Demeroven
himself. Friends. What a load of rot. All those things Prince said about falling in love with your best friend, of feeling safe and secure
with your partner—has he fallen that hard for Demeroven amid all the squabbling and sparring?
He doesn’t know what to do with himself, with this revelation, trapped in this coach. He isn’t even sure he knows what to
do with himself once they get to the manor. Everything just feels too big and too complicated.
Across from him, Gwen and Beth rest against each other, Beth’s eyes slipping closed, Gwen looking peacefully out the window,
both of them sufficiently cheered up and comfortable. Beth shifts and wraps her arm around Gwen’s stomach and Gwen smiles,
bending to press a kiss to Beth’s forehead.
Bobby’s pulled from his swirling thoughts at Demeroven’s sharp intake of breath.
“Just a reminder, we all need to be discreet while we’re at the manor. Meredith’s mother is staying with us, and she is not
privy to our... group dynamic,” Albie says.
Bobby nods, but Demeroven looks back and forth between them. “Discreet?” Demeroven asks.
“Demeroven is very discreet,” Bobby says, smiling at Demeroven, whose look of consternation turns to genuine alarm. “What?
You are.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” Demeroven says, and there’s a hint of panic in his voice, all that jovial good humor dropping
away now.
“We... work as a team to provide Beth and Gwen with time alone away from prying eyes,” Albie says slowly, glancing at Bobby.
Bobby watches Demeroven’s eyes dart around the carriage, from Beth and Gwen, to him, to Albie, and back. The look on his face
reminds Bobby of his retreat after their tryst at Ascot and something clicks sickeningly into place.
Demeroven doesn’t know . No wonder he balked at the idea of an alliance! He hasn’t even noticed the one staring him in the face. And how could he
possibly know how accepting Uncle Dashiell and Aunt Cordelia are if he’s never understood that Beth and Gwen—
“You haven’t figured it out yet,” Bobby says softly.
Demeroven’s confused eyes meet his. “Figured out what?”
Bobby looks over at the girls and then at Albie. This isn’t their secret to tell, but Demeroven needs to know. Though honestly
how he’s failed to notice before now is truly a mystery. Especially given Demeroven’s own inclination, he must have some sense
for when he’s in accepting company.
But then, he’s always so scared, always so concerned with appearances. Perhaps this really is the first time he’s ever been
surrounded by safe, accepting, loving people, and he hasn’t even known he’s had that support.
Surely he won’t judge Beth and Gwen. How could he?
They need to make this right. He needs to make this right. But he knows that they can’t just... expose their cousin and Beth like that without permission.
“Would someone please explain what’s going on?” Demeroven says.
Bobby huffs, glancing across the carriage to find Gwen looking back at him from where she’s been resting her cheek on Beth’s
head. She gives him a little smile and one bob of her head, before closing her eyes. Bobby looks to Albie, who sighs.
“Beth and Gwen are in love,” Albie says, matter-of-factly, which Bobby appreciates. But Demeroven just stares at him. “Together. In love... together.”
“Surely you’ve noticed something,” Bobby adds gently. Demeroven swings his head around to stare at him, because clearly, he
hasn’t. “Never wondered why they’re both still single when they’re so eligible?”
“I don’t want to get married; why should they?” Demeroven asks tightly.
Albie laughs and Bobby hears Gwen snort, though her eyes remain decidedly closed. Goodness, they’ve made a mess of this somehow.
“You’re all missing out,” Albie says, smirking at them.
“Yes, well, it’s a bit easier if you’re born wanting to get married, isn’t it?” Bobby says tartly.
“I can’t help how I was born. Nor can they,” Albie says, looking toward the girls. “So I ask that we all simply be careful
at the house. Meredith knows,” he adds for Demeroven’s sake. “And they’d be bunking together either way. But we just don’t
discuss anything with her mother, all right?”
“Of course,” Bobby says, while Demeroven just nods, staring at Gwen and Beth napping against each other.
Bobby sits back in his seat and the rest of the ride passes peacefully. But he can feel every movement Demeroven makes, every
shift, every little adjustment. Because now Demeroven knows—now he understands that the family loves Beth and Gwen the way
they are. Now Demeroven knows they’ve architected a situation where the girls can be happy, and together, and in love, without
consequence, or pressure, or judgment.
And sure, all four of them could force themselves into traditional marriages, and take their true happinesses fleetingly.
Live their lives in bits and pieces, hiding who they are.
But that’s not what Beth and Gwen want. That’s certainly not what Bobby wants. And he knows it’s not what Demeroven wants either. But to take the opposite step—to enter into a true relationship, like Beth and Gwen have—to trust their families to protect them, to support them—
He doesn’t know if this is enough to convince Demeroven that it’s possible.
No matter how much Bobby understands his own feelings now, no matter how much he actually wants the man beside him, Bobby
doesn’t know if he can stand to be turned down a third time.
He didn’t know until this month how much he truly wants to be loved the way Gwen loves Beth. The way his uncle loves his aunt.
The way Albie loves Meredith.
But does Demeroven want the same thing, from him?
By the time night falls and they reach the manor, he’s about to crawl out of his skin with nerves and anticipation. He glances
at Demeroven as they pull up along the long gravel drive and finds him alert, face pensive.
As soon as they come to a stop, the doors to the manor fly open, revealing Meredith in a house dress, illuminated by the lights
in the two-story foyer. She stands with her hands on her hips, red hair in untamed curls that land on her shoulders.
Albie throws open the carriage door and they can hear Meredith’s loud “What took you so long?” Albie nearly falls out of the
carriage in his haste to get to her.
Beth, Gwen, and Demeroven slowly follow him out. Albie sprints up the grand outer staircase to wrap his arms around his wife.
Bobby stoops and leans out of the carriage, watching Albie gently pick Meredith up and spin her around. Her giggles echo across
the lawn.
In the dark, Bobby can’t see much of the manor, just the light spilling down the long front steps. But he can smell the honeysuckle and hear the familiar rustle of the leaves in the trees above them. It’s peaceful, and he tries to let that peace seep into his anxious skin. During his childhood, when his father was gone on business, this was a happy place. And now his father is... permanently gone.
Therefore, this should forever be a happy place now, right? Meredith is all right. They should all be happy.
“They’re going to be sickening, aren’t they?” Gwen asks.
“Absolutely,” Beth says, Bobby echoing her automatically. Beth sounds far more charmed than Bobby is, but he’ll take it for
the relief of seeing Meredith standing.
“It’s sweet,” Demeroven says.
Gwen laughs and takes Beth’s hand, pulling her up the path.
Bobby stays hanging out the door of the carriage. He’s incredibly happy to see Meredith up and about, and to see his brother
so genuinely excited. They’re snogging now, completely enraptured. They’re home, and everything is fine.
Fingers clasp his and Bobby startles. Demeroven looks up at him, his soft, broad hand clutching Bobby’s, and gestures for
him to climb down.
Bobby does, a tightness in his middle that has nothing to do with the hunger gripping at his stomach. They stand for a moment,
staring at each other, something crackling between them. Beth’s laughter splits the air and Demeroven releases his hand. He
gives Bobby a slightly bashful smile before turning to follow the group, but Bobby can feel the press of his skin like a phantom
tingle the whole walk up to the house.
Despite their party numbering only seven, the foyer rings with sound and chaos. Beth, Gwen, and Demeroven stand admiring the house while Meredith’s mother, Lady Harrington, hugs the life out of Albie, maternal and warm despite her tall, willowy frame and severe gray dress.
“What, no hug for your sister-in-law?”
Bobby spins and finds Meredith beaming up at him. Her face is rounder, but she’s still frighteningly thin for being five months
with child. He immediately wraps her up tight, pleased to find she smells like lilacs, her signature scent. She’d written
that she couldn’t stand the smell just last month, so he takes this as a grand improvement.
“All right, let me look at you,” she says, pulling back to give him a once-over.
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” he asks, laughing as she whacks his arm.
“I see London hasn’t made you more proper.”
“Perish the very thought,” he says, feeling tension lift off his shoulders when she laughs.
“It is good to see you,” she says.
“Meredith, you have no idea,” he returns honestly. “How are you, really?”
“I’m well, really,” she says.
Albie steps up behind her and wraps his arm around her shoulders even as she hangs on to Bobby’s hands. “Dr. Morris agrees,”
he tells Bobby.
“Good,” Bobby says, squeezing her hands. “That is wonderful news. And I’m so glad we’re here for the week.”
“Me too,” she says brightly. “Now, Mother’s had dinner waiting for over an hour, so we shouldn’t keep her...”
Meredith trails off and Bobby releases her hands to follow her line of sight. Lady Harrington is fawning over Demeroven, adjusting his lapels and going on about how he’s bound to make a killing in the marriage mart. Beth and Gwen stand off to the side, hands over their mouths to keep from laughing at Demeroven’s beet-red face.
“Oh dear,” Meredith mumbles. “She’s been so excited for this visit, and you’ve brought her entirely fresh meat.”
Bobby turns a laugh into a cough and Albie chuckles into Meredith’s hair. “I suppose we should save him,” Albie says.
“Before she adopts him as her new son-in-law, I think,” Bobby agrees.
Meredith sighs when they make absolutely no move to step in. It’s not that he wants Demeroven to suffer, but Lady Harrington
can be a bit... much, and it’s nice, for a moment, to have her attention turned elsewhere. And Demeroven’s blush is absolutely
darling.
Of course, she notices Demeroven looking at Bobby beseechingly, and his reprieve is short-lived.
“Come, let me have a look at you,” Lady Harrington says, her melodic voice a booming command that bounces around the two-story
foyer.
He can hear Albie still snickering as he girds himself and steps forward to submit to Lady Harrington’s appraisal.
She takes his hands, much like Meredith did. “You have grown,” she says, looking him up and down.
“I suppose,” Bobby agrees with a smile. He always gets the feeling Lady Harrington can see straight through absolutely anyone
with those blue-gray eyes. “And how are you, Lady Harrington?”
“I am delighted to have all these wonderful young people here to stay for the week, but famished. Come, come, all of you,
into the dining room.”
Bobby lets her take his arm, walking her down the hall still decorated with his late father’s favorite sailing-scapes and then into the grand dining room. The long, narrow, lacquered oak table is set for a full dinner service, with high tapers and bright floral arrangements. Much more festive than anything they ever had while his father was alive.
But he’s thinking about his father too much, when he really should be paying attention to the seating. Lady Harrington leaves
him halfway down the table to make her way regally to the head, which suits him just fine. He knows Albie would rather sit
in the kitchen than take the head seat.
But that cedes the arrangements to Lady Harrington, who demands Beth and Gwen sit to either side of her, so she can get all
the best gossip. Albie hurries to help Lady Harrington get seated. Meredith steps up beside Gwen, forcing Bobby and Demeroven
to sit opposite one another, with no hope of interrupted eyelines.
Bobby goes to help Meredith into her chair, leaving Gwen beside her to her own devices. Meredith bats his hands away and pushes
herself in, giving him a look.
“I am perfectly capable of normal tasks.”
Bobby withholds a laugh, watching Demeroven race to try and push in Beth before she can do it herself. “See? It’s only polite.”
“Well, Demeroven needs to make a good impression. We already know and adore you,” Meredith says under her breath while she
smiles at Demeroven.
Beth pushes herself in before Demeroven can, and Gwen snorts on Meredith’s other side. Demeroven slinks back to his seat,
thwarted.
“Be nice,” Bobby finds himself saying.
Demeroven sits primly, listening attentively around Albie as Beth and Gwen fill Lady Harrington in on their work at the Foundling
Hospital. He actually looks like he fits there, which does something very funny to Bobby’s stomach.
Even though the soup Mr. Brile and Mr. Canton bring out is his favorite—potato and leek, with the most delicious crusted bread—he finds he’s barely able to manage a few spoonfuls. He didn’t expect that seeing Demeroven at his family table would feel like this—like a puzzle piece that may have just fallen perfectly into place. How ridiculous.
“I heard that Prous and Eloise were caught at the Yokely tea in the hedges,” Meredith says, pulling Bobby from his maudlin
thoughts.
“How?” he demands. “You weren’t even there.”
“Oh, but Annabeth was,” Meredith says wickedly.
“Her mother was ready to kill her,” Gwen says with some delight. “But I think it had the desired effect of getting Prous’
father to finally agree to all the terms.”
“So it was premeditated?” Lady Harrington wonders.
“It seems so,” Beth says.
“How clever,” Lady Harrington says.
Bobby chuckles softly, finally tucking properly into his soup while Demeroven stares, agog. Lady Harrington may look like
the portrait of propriety, but she’s as wily as Beth and Gwen.
“And you, ladies? Anyone on your horizons?”
Bobby watches Beth and Gwen share a faux innocent look. “No,” Gwen says, with forced melancholy.
“But with the new baby, I don’t mind so much,” Beth puts in.
“He is very cute,” Gwen agrees.
“And he’s well? And Lady Havenfort?” Meredith asks immediately. “I should have asked first thing.”
“They’re both doing wonderfully,” Beth assures her. “And baby Frederic gets more animated by the day. I swear he smiled at
me the other morning; it was the most precious thing.”
“He was smiling at me, actually,” Gwen says.
“I can’t wait to play with your little one,” Beth adds to Meredith, both she and Gwen looking a little wistful.
“All the more reason for you two beautiful girls to find yourselves husbands,” Lady Harrington says. “I know a number of unattached young gentlemen. Lord Highmore, for instance.”
“Who hates Gwen with a passion,” Meredith mumbles.
“I believe he’s actually getting rather friendly with Lady Liesel,” Demeroven says.
Bobby looks over at him, impressed. Demeroven winks at him, which has Bobby sitting up straight.
“Ah, well, that’s a pity, though Lady Liesel is a lovely young girl. Lord Ruming, however—”
“Albie, weren’t you telling me that Lord Ruming is about to propose to someone?” Meredith interjects.
“I was,” Albie agrees. “Nice girl from the country; untitled too, I believe.”
“A true love match, then,” Lady Harrington says. “Well, good for him. I’ll have to think of some other young men to suggest.
Once we get to London, I’m sure Miss Bertram’s mother and I can sit down and make a proper list. Your father has never been
much for planning, has he, dear?” she asks, looking to Gwen.
Gwen holds back a laugh. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Though,” she says, glancing down the table in a way that makes Bobby
want to duck and cover, “I think he’s actually been making more plans for Bobby and Demeroven, as they’re more valuable to
the family, aren’t they, Albie?”
Albie glances from Gwen to Bobby, looking apologetic. “I suppose that’s true, politically speaking. Though what’s most important
is for everyone to be happy; no one in this family need be a chess piece.”
“Good to know,” Bobby hears Demeroven mutter.
“Well, boys, tell me—what outings have you been on, then? Have any young ladies caught your eye?” Lady Harrington asks.
“No one so far,” Bobby says slowly, working hard to look down the table and not across at Demeroven. “I went out once with Lady Annabeth.”
“Oh, yes, a big accomplishment, seeing as she and Johnson have been courting for a year,” Meredith says.
Bobby only just refrains from elbowing her while Gwen snickers.
“Only Lady Annabeth? Honestly, Robert, you could make more of an effort. You’re a delightful young man.”
“Thank you,” he says, feeling himself blush. “I do think I’ve actually got Demeroven beat, though,” he says, glancing across
the table to see Demeroven glaring back. “He’s not been on one outing that I know of.”
“That you know of,” Demeroven repeats, his face unguarded and playful. He’s sitting up straighter too, come to think of it.
“But in fact, I think I have found someone special this season.”
Bobby feels his delight turn to lead in his stomach just as Brile and Canton return to remove their soup and replace it with
individual roasted quails and tureens of potatoes.
“You haven’t mentioned any outings,” Gwen says, a note of accusation in her voice as she carves her bird with a little too
much force.
Bobby picks up his cutlery with numb hands. Has he missed something—something obvious—something that would make the last few
weeks more than embarrassing?
“I do sometimes like to maintain an air of mystique,” Demeroven says.
Bobby forces himself to breathe evenly and begins to nestle his knife into the meat along the breastbone of the bird. He thinks
he might know how the poor thing feels.
Beth looks around Albie with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? And what else have you been leaving out, when you know we’re always so
starved for good gossip?”
“I don’t want to besmirch the honor of my paramour,” Demeroven says casually, spearing a carrot from his plate.
“Well, that won’t do. If MissBertram and Lady Gwen are starved for gossip, you can only imagine how much Meredith and I have
wasted away these long months. Now tell us, who have you met, Lord Demeroven?” Lady Harrington asks as she daintily carves
her bird.
“It’s no one titled, but I’ve been having some fun,” Demeroven says, and Bobby feels like his heart has sunk all the way into
his guts and gotten twisted. He can’t even bear to lift his forkful of quail to his mouth.
Has he been too caught up in his own infatuation to see what’s clearly right in front of him? Demeroven has never wanted him;
he made that very plain. He said friends, and friends only. So all the angst and daydreaming Bobby’s been doing has been for
what? Just to break his own heart?
“But the relationship is private, and I need to respect the honor of my paramour,” Demeroven says.
Bobby considers simply running out of the room, feeling so wrenchingly mortified he could melt right into the floor. Then
something brushes his ankle. He jerks in his seat, only just playing the movement off as a cough into his napkin.
It’s a foot. It’s a foot very pointedly brushing up against his leg. He blinks and finds himself beneath Demeroven’s gaze
while Gwen, Beth, Meredith, and Lady Harrington begin putting together bets for who this mysterious paramour could be.
But Bobby’s eyes are caught on Demeroven’s. Demeroven, who is... running his foot up Bobby’s calf . He can’t be—is he—he can’t be talking about Bobby, can he? An untitled paramour with whom he’s been having fun but wants
to keep private? It can’t possibly be Bobby.
But that’s his sodding foot making Bobby hard at the dinner table .
Demeroven smiles slyly and then turns back to Lady Harrington, gamely fending off every name the ladies provide while Albie
sits back in his seat, eating with a little smile.
Holy shit. He— How can this man be so demurring and anxious and scared, and simultaneously be this hot and daring all at once?
And what on earth is Bobby supposed to make of Demeroven’s foot rubbing against the soft underside of his knee? How is he
supposed to eat? What is he supposed to do ?
Suffer, it turns out. Suffer in agonizing ecstasy, because Demeroven keeps it up all through dinner, long after Lady Harrington
and the girls give up the ghost and go back to their normal gossip.
It’s only at dessert that Demeroven ceases to torture him, clearly too in love with Mr.Whiley’s soufflé to continue his sexual
advances. It is remarkably good, and Bobby tries to focus on the decadent chocolate (apparently one of the only things Meredith’s
been able to stomach reliably, which must be costing Albie a small fortune).
Every glance from Demeroven sends a charge coursing through his veins. Pinpricks of heat are bouncing all over him. Every
single nerve is on alert. It feels like he might spontaneously combust.
It’s late. They’ve traveled all day. Meredith is with child. Surely, surely, that means they can end this torture soon and
go to bed. And he can somehow... push Demeroven up against a wall, any wall, he doesn’t care which, and snog the living
shit out of him until he’s crying with want as payback.
Because apparently they have a relationship, and he damn well deserves to get some retribution for this dinner. More than that, he desperately wants to talk.
Of course, no one seems to care much about his fried nerve endings. The moment Lady Harrington deems dessert complete, they’re
ushered upstairs by the whole staff. He tries to keep track of Demeroven in the fray, but he keeps being pulled in multiple
directions.
He glances up the stairs just in time to spot Demeroven disappearing around the first landing when their housekeeper, Mrs.Tilty,
takes his arm.
“We have missed you and the viscount,” she says seriously, looking up at him. “And you’ve gone and grown again.”
He laughs, watching the way her eyes crinkle and noting the few new strands of gray in the curls that peek out beneath her
lace cap. “I think it’s just the distance, Mrs.Tilty. I’m much the same.”
“No, no, there’s something different about you,” she insists as they mount the stairs. “You look older.”
“I’m sure it’s just the travel,” Bobby demurs, though her words settle somewhere behind his breastbone.
He does feel a bit older. It could just be the time away—he’s always surprised by how it feels like the house stands still
when they’re gone. Though, of course, this time it hasn’t. His bedroom corridor has been redone, he notices, taking stock
of the new rose-patterned wall etchings in a dusky pink outlined with gold.
“Lady Mason had it commissioned. She’s been dreadfully bored,” Mrs.Tilty says, her voice low but amused.
Bobby tries to focus on the new wall decoration and not the fact that Demeroven is hovering outside the room across the hall
from his.
“How have you been, Mrs. Tilty?” he forces himself to ask, not wanting to be so self-absorbed he neglects the housekeeper who raised him.
She pulls him to a stop outside his door, glances at Demeroven, and then turns to Bobby, smiling fondly. She runs her aging
hand over his door, tracing the faded etching where he carved his name into the wood when he was four. His father beat him,
but Mrs.Tilty was impressed he knew his letters.
“I am well, Mr.Mason,” she says. “Glad to have you back, and for your company.”
They both look at Demeroven, who blushes and then slips into the guest room, the door closing with what feels like a decisive
click. So much for conversation.
Bobby forces himself to look back at Mrs.Tilty. “We’ve missed you too. There’s absolutely room for you at the London house,
if you’re interested,” he says, thinking it might be rather nice to have her there.
But of course: “No, no, my place is here. Mr.Tilty has London well in hand. And what would he and I have to discuss when
he comes home if I were there to experience it with him?”
“I do hate that we take your husband from you for four months out of the year,” Bobby says.
“Oh, goodness. If we didn’t have this break every year, we’d surely murder each other,” Mrs.Tilty says with a chuckle. “Now,
I’ve laundered your sheets with the lavender soap you like, and there’s water and a bit of rosemary bread on the side table
if you get hungry.”
Bobby reaches out impulsively to hug her. She squeaks and then hums, rubbing his back. He takes just a moment to savor her
familiarity, her safety. She feels like all the good of childhood, and he wonders as he pulls back how he survives in London
without her.
“All right, all right. To bed with you. Lady Harrington has all kinds of things planned for the week, as does Lady Mason. We’ve tried to keep them entertained, but nothing beats young blood.”
“I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job,” Bobby says, taking her hands. “And thank you. I know it is a huge comfort to Albie
that you’ve been here with Meredith.”
“It’s my honor. I can’t wait to have another little boy to chase.”
Bobby smiles and lets her leave him after a squeeze of his hands. He stands there, big and small, old and young, comforted
and disconnected all at once. He leans back against his door, feeling the familiar solid wood, hoping it can ground him.
Instead, he’s left staring at Demeroven’s door, all kinds of other feelings rising in his chest until they crescendo. He throws
his door open and catapults himself into his childhood bedroom. He strides across the room with practiced steps to launch
himself face down onto his bed, feeling the bounce like an old friend, eyes squeezed shut.
He’s had many a strop in this room, with its blue walls and cream-colored furniture. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see
the tattered lace of his canopy. Doesn’t need to look to know there are little horse and knight figurines still on the windowsill.
His sheets smell like lavender, and the bed is the kind of soft only an extremely old mattress can be, lumpy in just the right
spots.
It’s the perfect place to simply dissolve into a puddle of frayed nerves, sexual frustration, and general malaise, and he’s
set to do just that, rolling onto his back to splay like a starfish, his feet hanging off the side of the bed.
And then the bed moves.