19. Sage
SAGE
Though he would never admit it to anyone who made the suggestion—a suggestion that had been made on more than one occasion—Sage did wonder if perhaps he was the sort of man who found gratification in his own misery.
Years of pining after Wyndham was certainly proof enough all on its own.
Unfortunately, his proclivity for seeking out gentlemen who only desired him for certain reasons went far beyond that experience.
It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize they never wanted him , they only wanted what he could provide.
And yet he continued, willing to provide so he might earn the smallest satisfaction from the muttered words of appreciation he sometimes got after it was over.
If those utterances matched the strength of a flickering candle, Conrad’s words of thanks burned brighter than the midday sun.
Sage found that he could hardly endure the lack of restraint Conrad had on the praise and words of encouragement he offered, seemingly for no reason other than his desire to say them.
It was entirely overwhelming and Sage was altogether helpless against it.
Every instinct told him to do what he had always done: offer himself in exchange, for what else did he have to give? But he’d already made a fool of himself trying to do exactly that. Conrad’s rejection still stung, even if Sage now had a better understanding of why it happened.
In his effort to discover what else he might be able to extend of himself, however, he had done little more than add bricks to the walls of the chamber he was constructing for his own personal torture.
Riding lessons that forced Conrad’s eyes to slide over his body?
A brick there. Discovering that the lessons were painfully helpful, giving Conrad everything he could possibly need to sit astride his mount with perfect form and confidence?
Another brick. Returning from the hours of sitting horseback while trying not to get caught staring, only to have Conrad rhapsodize over the bath Sage had organized for him?
Brick. Realizing that he had set himself up to attempt to carry on a conversation while a man who looked like that bathed directly behind him?
Brick. Trying to compose himself with some subtle deep breaths, only to be met with the intense burst of lavender from the soap he had forgotten to ask for an alternative for when he made the request?
Brick. Crawling between the sheets to settle against Conrad, his skin still hot and damp from the water, and fighting every urge to do more than close his eyes and fall asleep?
Sun-baked, rock-hard, unyielding bloody brick.
Conrad had said he need only ask. It seemed like such a simple question.
Better yet, he already knew what Conrad’s answer would be, amenable man that he was.
But the truth was that Sage had never actually asked before.
He’d been open and willing, more often than he should’ve been no doubt, but the idea of requesting it was so outlandish that he hadn’t the slightest bit of courage to do it.
It seemed courage was something he lacked in many aspects of his stay at the Wrenwhistle estate.
Although, if Conrad was to be believed, he’d already shown a little courage just by accepting the invitation.
With more time, and certainly with more encouragement from his companion, maybe he could accomplish the rest.
* * *
The next afternoon, Sage was able to trade one form of torment for another.
He could think of no better way to abate his desirous thoughts than to spend several hours locked away in the study with Roger while they planned this ridiculous party.
The worst part was that Roger did not find any detail too small to discuss, which meant that they truly spent each moment of those hours working.
Fortunately, Roger was the one doing all of the writing and most of the talking, and by the time he rang for tea, there were a few blissful moments of silence as he sipped from his cup, to which he’d added a double helping of honey.
Sage eyed him over the delicate, golden rim of his own cup.
“I’m surprised you did not add something a bit stronger than honey and lemon after yesterday’s happenings.”
Roger’s expression pinched. While on their ride, movement of a hare or a bird in the grass had spooked his horse and sent her bucking several times.
He’d almost managed to hold on, arms wrapped tightly around her neck and shrieking, until he slid from the saddle as slowly and ungracefully as one possibly could and ended up flat on his back on the trail.
Naturally, it sent everyone into a panic, but other than a sore hip, Roger had declared he was fine and even got back in the saddle for the return trip. It was rather impressive.
“Oh, y-yes,” Roger agreed unsteadily. “I probably would have, if Wyn hadn’t already made certain that I was full of his preferred tonic for aches.” He took another sip of tea and gave a small shrug. “I’m fine though, really. It was more startling than anything.”
“I was thrown from a horse once, many years ago.”
Roger hummed sympathetically around his mouthful of biscuit. “Were you hurt?”
“Only my pride.”
“A fragile thing, indeed.”
Their eyes met sharply across the desk. Roger’s went wide with realization of what he’d said.
“Not yours specifically! I only meant as a general rule, that one’s pride is damaged far easier than I think any of us care to remember.”
“Pity there is no tonic for such an injury,” Sage murmured into his tea.
Roger let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Only time, I’m afraid. The reassurance of loved ones. Keeping in mind that we all make mistakes.”
An apology , Sage thought.
As another stretch of quiet settled between them, he took the opportunity to really look at the man opposite him.
Of course he knew what Roger looked like—aside from a significant upgrade to his wardrobe, he looked exactly the same as he always had: dark brown hair and eyes to match, light brown skin, a round face, and spectacles that never seemed to stay where they were supposed to be.
It was one of countless things they’d all teased him about in school.
Sage was personally responsible for one broken pair and had witnessed it happen at least two other times.
To look at someone and to truly see them are entirely different.
Just as Roger had climbed back onto his horse after being forcibly removed, he had remained steady in the face of snide comments and cruel tricks for all those years.
He had taken on the untamable force of a man like Wyndham Wrenwhistle and, with the help of a few strongly-worded letters to the Tribune, come out on the other side with a doting husband and his name glistening on the tongue of everyone in London—and beyond, according to Conrad.
There was nothing graceful about him. He was not charming like Emrys, or elegant like Torquil.
None could ever match the wit of Wyndham.
He was only a human, prudish and messy, stinking up the place with his complicated human magic.
And yet, somehow, he was unbreakable, steadfast and hopeful no matter the circumstance.
All at once, an understanding hit Sage so hard that he had to set his tea on the desk for fear of dropping it. Was this what Wyndham meant when he’d said that falling in love had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Roger?
Sage rubbed a hand over his face, leaving it across his closed eyes as his mind worked clumsily over his thoughts.
It was no wonder Roger had taken to Conrad so quickly.
They were one in the same. Kind, humble, hardworking human men who wanted more for others than they did for themselves.
Sage’s hand came down to cover his mouth as he blinked at Roger, who was busy refilling the cup he’d set down.
It was even less of a wonder how he’d managed to capture Wyndham’s entire heart in such a short time.
“That was very nice of you to arrange a lesson for Conrad,” Roger said as he set the teapot down. “He seemed to enjoy himself?—”
“I’m sorry I misjudged you,” Sage blurted.
He fisted his hand and pressed it hard against his thigh, the other gripping the arm of the chair.
He was certain he looked as uncomfortable as he sounded.
Roger looked up at him in surprise, jaw slack.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, and it only made Sage’s heart beat faster.
That was not the apology he was waiting to hear, but it had to be said before anything else. There was no going back now.
“Oh,” Roger finally managed, with a tight yet encouraging nod.
“Wyndham never said those things about you. I did. I’m certain he’s already told you as much, but it’s only fair to hear it from me.
I wish I could tell you I never meant them.
Or that I only said them to hurt you, which I did.
” Sage dropped his gaze to his lap, swallowing hard before he looked up again.
“I only knew you as the lad we all made fun of in school. And then, when I noticed how you’d taken so much of Wyndham’s attention, I said whatever I could think of to try and come between the two of you.
” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “A lot of good that did.”
“I see,” Roger offered with far too much understanding.
Sage crossed his arms and hunched forward in his chair, unable to look at Roger for what he said next.
“You’re not dull or stupid. You’re not a waste of anything. I suppose after working so closely together, Wyndham was able to see in you what the rest of us had to wait until after your wedding to find out.”
“And what is that?”
“You’re intelligent, kind, and proper wonderful with your magic, and running a house, and everything else that you do.” Sage winced. “And that you really were meant for Wyndham. You were meant for each other.”
Sage pushed up out of his chair and kept his arms tight across his chest as he moved away from the desk, his back to Roger as he stared up at the shelves full of books without really looking at them.
“I do not expect you to actually forgive me for the things I’ve said,” he admitted quietly. “But for what it’s worth, I will always regret saying them.”
A light touch on his arm brought his attention to where Roger had come to stand beside him.
“I think you’ll find it’s worth a great deal more than you realize.”