Chapter Twenty-Five
Bobby
“You’re sure about this?” Albie asks, looking across their newly refinished carriage at him. Meredith, sitting beside Albie,
looks just as concerned in her beautiful new tea dress, face ringed with shiny red curls beneath her bonnet.
They’ve spent the week keeping him frighteningly busy with the house, and with teas, and dinners, and endless shopping. Meredith’s
maintained an incessant running commentary on anything and everything. Albie’s attended almost no meetings with Uncle Dashiell
and hasn’t said two words about the ones he has—their tacit, unspoken agreement to pretend everything is normal. There’s been
no post, no heartfelt letters of apology, or excuse, or proof of life. And he’s fine. He’s perfectly fine.
And now they’re watching him like he could shatter into a thousand pieces of glass at any moment.
“I’m fine ,” Bobby insists, tugging at his collar and staring out the window to avoid their knowing eyes.
He’s not technically required at this luncheon. Meredith was guest enough for Albie. But then Uncle Dashiell asked if he would
accompany Beth and Gwen so he could focus on Cordelia’s first event out, and how could Bobby refuse?
So here he is, lurching forward when the carriage stops outside of Stationers’ Hall, heart in his throat. He’s about to spend three hours in the same room as James Demeroven for the first time in a week and he doesn’t know how to feel about it, let alone how to handle it.
“Well, I suppose we should—” Albie says, giving him another worried look as the door opens and an umbrella is opened for Meredith.
“Yep,” Bobby says with forced brightness, gesturing for them to get out.
Albie manages to huddle under half of Meredith’s umbrella, the poor door attendant getting absolutely soaked in the process.
Bobby hurries across the courtyard after them, entering the bright, vaulted entryway with wet hair.
He brushes himself off and shuffles inside the hall with Albie and Meredith. Albie’s smiling at just about everyone they pass,
and the outer hall is packed with parliamentarians and their families, everyone milling about until the doors open into the
main hall for luncheon.
Bobby stays close to Meredith, eyes flitting around the room. He should be looking for Beth and Gwen. Instead, there’s a clutch
in his chest at every glimpse of sandy-brown hair. He doesn’t know if he wants to see James or not.
He hasn’t been able to decide all week whether he’s angry, devastated, or disappointed. Or some horrible swirling combination
of all three. All he knows is his stomach has been sour since James ran away, and no amount of food, conversation, or whisky
has made it better.
“There you are,” he hears just as a smaller hand takes his arm.
He turns, his whole body sagging in relief to see Beth beside him, a pop of color in her pale-blue gown, with Gwen approaching
behind her in a darker navy. “You’re a wonder,” he tells Beth.
She smiles while Gwen scoffs. “And me?”
“You’re surprisingly hard to spot with that bonnet on,” he returns.
She laughs and raises a hand. Bobby glances to his left and smiles at Uncle Dashiell and Aunt Cordelia as they approach. Aunt Cordelia looks radiant in a deep-blue dress. Her cheeks are still round and she gives him a smile that makes him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
“You look a little peaky, dear,” she says, reaching out to straighten his collar.
“I’ll be fine once we get some food,” he assures her.
It won’t fix the sleepless nights, or the gnawing unease, but sitting safely with his family, where he can’t run into James
without warning, will do wonders for his nerves.
“Damn,” Beth mutters.
Bobby turns back to her, raising an eyebrow, and then James Demeroven appears behind Uncle Dashiell. He’s in a new suit, his
hair freshly cut, standing straight, his face carefully blank. Beth’s hand tightens around Bobby’s arm as he takes a step
back. James is looking everywhere but at Bobby and Bobby feels like his stomach might make a break for his mouth.
James is right there, still so handsome, and wonderful, but buttoned up again. This is the man who ran from him, not the man
who shared his bed. But oh, if the world could be different—
“How are you, Lord Demeroven?” Aunt Cordelia asks brightly.
“I’m well, thank you. And yourself? You look wonderful,” James manages, only a slight waver to his voice.
Bobby forces himself to look away while Aunt Cordelia talks with James, turning to Beth and Gwen. Meredith steps into their
little circle immediately and begins rattling off the laundry list of events they’ll be attending in the coming week leading
up to their departure to Cowes for the regatta.
Four dinners, five teas, and Albie’s arranged for at least two card games. Beth and Gwen will have to join them for everything. And Bobby will simply shuffle after Meredith, from event to event, turning off his brain as best he can. He’s sure he’ll be miraculously out of the house anytime there’s so much as a whisper of parliamentary business.
But more strategic social separation won’t come until tomorrow. Today, Aunt Cordelia is inviting James to sit at their luncheon
table and Bobby feels himself die a little inside.
“You want me to deck him?” Gwen whispers as the doors to the main hall open and they join the crowd shuffling forward. She
takes his other arm and Bobby forces himself to smile through it.
“Maybe later. Would be a little conspicuous,” he says.
Gwen nods seriously. “You just give me the sign.”
Bobby squeezes her arm to his side and takes solace in her solidarity. They make their way into the room, following Uncle
Dashiell, Aunt Cordelia, and James toward one of the more central round tables. The gorgeous stained-glass windows throw muted
colors across the white linen tablecloths bedecked with gilded centerpieces. The dark oak paneling adds to the atmosphere,
and were he in a better mood, he’d be interested in the various shields and crests mounted on the walls. But Bobby can’t admire
the room, not when facing the next terrible three hours of emotional torture.
Thankfully, Gwen, Beth, Albie, and Meredith make quick work of ensuring Bobby and James are seated as far from each other
as possible. But that puts them on opposite sides of the table, staring at each other for the first time in a week. For the
first time since Bobby bared his heart to James, and James ran away.
Ice and fire collide in his chest. He moves instinctively to grab the glass of wine by his place setting, and then retracts
his hand. He’s numb enough already.
Gwen leans into him on his left while Beth’s hand slips into his on the right. “Want to play Spot-the-Slosh?” Gwen whispers. “First one to see five parliamentarians asleep wins ten quid.”
Bobby lets out a startled laugh, earning a look from Aunt Cordelia. There’s someone speaking at the podium on a dais at the
front of the room. Bobby feigns attention, while nudging Gwen, who snickers quietly.
He can’t quite prevent his eyes from flicking over to James. He doesn’t want Gwen to punch his lights out. He wants the last
week to be a nightmare—to wake up back in his childhood bed, James wrapped in his arms.
Punishing James won’t give him back the magic of that week. Won’t make James any braver. Won’t make Bobby any more worthy
of his affections. It would just make everything worse.
He blinks as James turns and meets his eyes. In the dim light, the bags beneath James’ eyes are more pronounced. His face
is open here in the darkened room, a flash of a more haggard reality flitting across his features. God, Bobby wants to be
so angry, but when he looks at James—
James’ gaze skitters to the left and his eyes widen. He rises abruptly, muttering something to Uncle Dashiell before hurrying
out of the room. Bobby stares after him. Running, again? He can’t even sit at the same table as Bobby now?
Not that Bobby thought there was hope for some... romantic reunion, but even sitting in the same space is too much? What,
are they never to see each other again?
“Bobby,” Gwen whispers.
He slowly tears his eyes away from James’ empty seat. Gwen jerks her chin to the left. He follows the movement to the next
table over and finds himself under Lord Raverson’s gaze.
A sick relief pulses through his chest. Maybe James wasn’t running from him after all, at least not this time. But that leaves him alone in this room with Raverson. As they stare at each other, Bobby takes in his hollowed cheeks, the way his suit hangs off his frame even when he’s seated, his overlong hair. The past weeks haven’t been kind to Raverson either, but Bobby has no idea why. Only that it can’t bode well for any of them.
Raverson narrows his eyes, and Bobby sits up straight. He has to look impenetrable. He won’t cower, not here, not now. One
of them has to stand tall against Raverson.
So he holds Raverson’s look until Raverson clenches his jaw and looks away. But nothing’s been solved. He and James still
have—
“You should go after him,” Beth whispers.
Bobby flinches, that tightness in his chest turning into a pulsing ache. They still have to prevent the blackmail, somehow.
But if he gets up now, Raverson will—
“I need the loo,” Gwen says abruptly. A little overloud, so the table turns to look at her.
Beth elbows him. “I’ll, uh, escort you,” Bobby says, rising and holding out his hand. Uncle Dashiell gives him a small smile
and Bobby forces himself to smile back.
He helps Gwen up and together they hurry out of the banquet hall, that damn parliamentarian still droning on from the front
of the room. Bobby pushes open the door to the entry hall and follows Gwen out into the red-carpeted foyer.
James isn’t there.
Bobby gnaws on his lip, letting Gwen guide him silently toward the side hall off the entry. Perhaps she really did just need
the loo, after all. And at least that will give him a few minutes to calm his racing pulse. Between James and Raverson, it
feels like he’s been put through a laundry mangle.
He follows Gwen down the side hall—how she knows this building and he doesn’t is a mystery he’s too tired to parse right now—and then down a short staircase that opens onto another hall. They round a corner and find James Demeroven hovering outside of the water closets, wringing his hands, his hair mussed, eyes a little wild.
He looks up as they approach and they all just stand there staring at each other, frozen. Their tryst in the hedges flashes
across Bobby’s mind, images of them in bed, James’ handsome face hovering over him. All those talks by the lake, holding hands
while they went walking. The hours laughing and kissing. The way it felt to have James naked and wanting and—
“I, um, actually do need the loo,” Gwen whispers awkwardly. She hesitates for a beat, and then squeezes his arm. He watches
in a daze as she skirts around James and disappears into the ladies’ room.
Which leaves Bobby and James alone, at the end of a hallway, by a set of water closets, yet again.
Bobby wants to run. Bobby wants to shove James up against the wall and kiss him. Bobby wants to shove James up against the
wall and shake him.
He thought he knew heartache in school, when flings ended, when boys he fancied didn’t fancy him back. But he’s never known
this feeling—like having his heart strangled by a gripping fist just staring at James’ wide blue eyes.