7. Sage
SAGE
Sage tilted his head back as he drained the last of his drink, effectively breaking the trance he’d fallen into as he stared at the healthy fire set in the hearth. A steady, cool rain had been falling all day, which resulted in the entire party being trapped inside.
His original plans of speaking with Roger after breakfast had been thwarted when he was informed that both Roger and Wyndham were occupied with Mr. Moore in the study.
After checking in twice, only to be told they were still busy doing whatever it was they were doing behind closed doors, Sage had given up.
He found it incredibly discourteous that his hosts would occupy themselves with only one guest and leave the rest of them to come up with their own forms of entertainment.
He settled for wandering the halls to observe every piece of artwork he could find and taking a late tea alone, followed by a nap.
He had to admit—only to himself—that he was grateful when dinner was called.
The party converged on the dining room a bit more subdued than they had the previous two nights.
It seemed the weather left everyone feeling drowsy.
However, none appeared to be in low spirits, and soon the conversation was flowing with laughter and smiles abound.
Roger regaled the table with mental notes he’d made during another session of observing Mr. Moore’s magic.
Sage was unable to decide which was more difficult to see: the self-indulgent gazes of affection that Wyndham gave to his husband as he spoke, or the thoroughly unrestrained pride bursting from Mr. Moore as Roger spoke about his aptitude in very high regard.
Practical and clever were the two words he used most.
Before the conclusion of the meal, Miss Thackeray was bouncing in her seat, encouraging everyone to join in a round or two of charades.
Sage would have rather plucked out his eyelashes one by one than play such a ridiculous game, but the thought of returning to his empty room again almost felt worse.
He’d settled for a strong drink and a seat by the fire a safe distance from where everyone else had gathered around Miss Thackeray and a book of riddles she’d apparently bought in London specifically for this trip.
“That was an easy one,” Lady Anthea Fitzhugh said, her tone on the verge of a complaint. “Give us a challenge.”
Sage turned his attention away from the hearth and set his empty glass on the small table beside his chair.
He took the opportunity to covertly observe the group.
Miss Thackeray was between Mx. Hillcrest and Mr. Thompson on the sofa; the space separating them on the cushions had been at Miss Thackeray’s demand so neither of them could read over her shoulder.
To their left, Roger sat in a wingback chair with a very worried look on his face.
Wyndham was standing behind him with one hand on Roger’s shoulder, the other cradling a glass of wine.
On the right were the Ladies Fitzhugh, both leaning in with anticipation.
Another chair had been brought forward for Emrys.
His arms were draped loosely around Torquil’s waist, who was seated comfortably on his lap.
The Rook-Worths had already gone upstairs.
When he finally found Mr. Moore, it was with much surprise.
The man was seated on the floor , of all places, legs stretched out in front of him with one ankle crossed over the other, supporting his weight on both hands behind him.
His grin was gentle, but his eyes were still wide and bright, as though he could not possibly get enough of his present company.
Miss Thackeray abruptly stopped flipping the pages of her book, eyes narrowing at the Fitzhughs as a smirk stretched her mouth.
“These ought to give you pause. It’s why I had to travel all the way to the seedy part of town to find a copy.”
“Oh dear,” Roger murmured.
Miss Thackeray cleared her throat theatrically before she read the lines.
“The first, one might wish upon a lovely spring day,
On no account the thoroughbred you’ve bid your coin;
The second, foremost but never proud,
Crest the summit and revel in the beauty below.”
A thick silence came immediately after as everyone’s minds began to work over the words.
The Ladies Fitzhugh leaned in close to one another and began whispering.
Miss Thackeray read the lines again, careful not to place any emphasis that might give hints to the answer.
The frown on Roger’s mouth deepened, and he turned his face up to Wyndham, who looked cautiously thoughtful after a slow sip of his wine.
“The second part must have something to do with position,” he mused. “Summit, crest, below.”
“Perhaps the best of something?” This was Mr. Moore’s contribution.
Wyndham huffed a laugh. “I’ve never known anyone who was the best at anything who wasn’t proud.” He angled a flat look at Emrys, who winked in reply.
“Thoroughbred, that’ll be the races,” Mr. Thompson said in the polished way only a man from London could. “What do we never want to see in a horse?”
“Lameness?” Mx. Hillcrest guessed with uncertainty. Miss Thackeray patted their leg and gave them a reassuring smile.
“A lovely spring day.” Lady Anthea Fitzhugh closed her eyes as if to imagine it. “Sunshine. Flowers blooming. A glass of lemonade. Relaxation.”
Her wife nodded with a dreamy hum. “A treat I would hope never ends.”
Mr. Thompson continued with his line of thought. “The best racehorse is a fast one. Time is money.”
“Time indeed,” Wyndham said before he took another sip of wine. He bent down closer to Roger and worked a few small circles into his husband’s shoulder with his fingers. “What’s that I’ve been telling you about why I enjoy being away from the city?”
Roger winced at being put on the spot, but he gave it some thought.
“Time…away from your family?” he asked. Everyone else laughed gamely, even Emrys. Wyndham made a face that said you’re not wrong and kissed the top of Roger’s head.
“I enjoy it because each day can be as easy as we choose. Slow.”
All at once, every person in the room including Sage looked at Miss Thackeray to see if Wyndham’s guess was correct. She pressed her lips together to create unnecessary suspense before she nodded enthusiastically. Quick praise was offered to Wyndham by those who were playing along.
“Slow what ?” Lady Anthea Fitzhugh wondered aloud, doubling everyone’s focus as they approached the final answer.
“Slowcrest,” Lady Imogen Fitzhugh tried. “No, that was in the riddle. Slowpeak? Slowhill? It sounds like a mountain or somewhere high.”
“Slowridge!” Mr. Thompson called out, even though he clearly knew it was incorrect. “Slowtip!”
Suddenly, Mr. Moore sat forward and clapped his hands. “Slowtop!”
Miss Thackeray nearly dropped her book as she leapt from her seat and pointed at him. “Yes! Slowtop is the answer.” The rest of the group clapped wildly for the man with a few cheers mixed in. Once the noise settled, Lady Imogen Fitzhugh gave a small pout.
“I daresay I haven’t a clue what slowtop even means.”
Mr. Moore chuckled. He had pulled one leg up and was resting his forearm on it, the other hand behind him on the floor again.
“It gets tossed around the shipyard so casually. It’s another way to call someone stupid, or foolish.
” Without warning, he turned and looked directly at Sage, their eyes locking across the room.
“Half-witted,” he added with a small shrug, his grin never faltering.
By the time Sage recognized the reference to his own words, Mr. Moore had already turned back to the impressed onlookers.
Sage forced his full attention to the fireplace to hide the heat that had blazed across his chest and up his neck after such a personal affront.
But, again, how was he supposed to be angry?
It was the kindest slight he’d ever been given.
Companionable. That was the word Mr. Moore had used for the second time when Sage woke to find he’d wrapped himself around the man far too intimately over the course of the night.
There was no aggravation in his voice about it, which was just as well, because Sage felt it within himself enough for the both of them.
The problem was that he did not know how to handle the situation without it.
Companionable? Men who took him to bed never wanted anything of the sort, unless they’d had other things before it.
Even then, it usually did not last very long, and certainly not until Sage woke on his own.
Sage had shared a bed with more men than he could remember, but what he said held true. Mr. Moore was the strangest he had ever met.
As Miss Thackeray prepared to read out another puzzle for everyone to solve, Sage slipped quietly out of the sitting room and went upstairs.
He felt a small sense of relief when he looked at the bed.
Without bothering to carry out his nighttime routine, he undressed and put the clothes where he’d instructed Mr. Moore to place his that morning.
The old ones had been collected. A glance at the wardrobe told him they had not yet been returned.
Entirely unbidden, his next thought was to check in Mr. Moore’s bag under the bed just to make sure.
Sage scowled at nothing as he pushed the thought away.
Why did it matter where his clothes ended up?
They were not expensive, or even of decent quality, only made worse by the way they’d been treated.
Not to mention how uncouth it would be for him to go searching through someone else’s belongings without their knowledge.
Sage snatched the covers back on the bed and slid underneath them. There was no way to know how long Mr. Moore and the others would continue their silly game, but his plan was to be solidly asleep before he had to find out.
He’d been called many things in his life.
Rakish. Spiteful. Covetous. To deny any of them would be a wasted effort on his part.
But companionable? Perhaps Mr. Moore did not understand the meaning of the word.
It was exactly what Torquil and Emrys had told him he needed to be more of: friendly, affectionate. Nice.
With a groan, Sage blew out his candle and reached for the extra pillow he had requested.
He turned his back to the middle of the bed and wrapped both arms around the pillow, before he dragged his bent knee over it, as well.
It was a comfort to know that the staff Wyndham and Roger kept could be trusted with quiet requests.
The lavender soap was not quite as strong coming from the pillowcase as it was from the warmth of a person, but it would do.
He pressed his face into the soft fabric and breathed it in until his lungs ached.
If being more friendly and sociable was what it would take to earn a place in Wyndham’s life again, then he would try.
Admittedly, watching everyone else enjoying the game had been entertaining in its own way.
But if he was going to change his behavior, then he wanted the others to see it for themselves, not by word of mouth from Mr. Moore.
An evening in the sitting room when he would’ve rather been somewhere else had been the first step. He supposed only time would tell if it’d been effective. He knew at least one person had noticed his presence.
Sage buried his face deeper into the lavender pillow.
The second step was to give Mr. Moore less to talk about at breakfast. He could offer all the smiles and pleasant indifference that he cared to, but Sage was determined to not wake up for a third morning pressed hard against the man’s startlingly muscular thigh.
He knew little about being friendly with someone, but he was certain that was not the best way to go about it.
Another round of laughter rolled its way up the stairs. Losing Wyndham had been the most difficult thing he had ever faced, but he was starting to wonder if getting him back might be even worse.