33. Sage
SAGE
“All of this was so much easier when we held the event at our townhouse.”
Roger was behind his desk with his head in his hands, staring down at the most disorganized stack of letters Sage had ever seen.
The man had nearly spilled his tea on them, his cravat was crooked, and there was a smear of powdered sugar on his chin from the biscuit he’d been eating.
It was all enough to make Sage grimace and wish to suggest that he call for his husband to settle his nerves, but it was still all meant to be a secret between the two of them.
“Mrs. Wrenwhistle somehow managed to get a large fraction of London out to their family estate for your wedding, Roger. I am sure you’ve done everything necessary to host a simple party here.” Sage had even helped write out some of the final pieces of correspondence—it all seemed to be in place.
Roger groaned. “Wyn’s mother is a force to be reckoned with. I am not.”
Sage set his empty teacup down in hopes that refilling it would help distract Roger from his worrying.
“She is not so frightening. I’ve always admired her strong personality, to be honest.” Wyndham’s mother had a bit of a reputation; she was a no-nonsense sort of lady who would not accept anything less than exactly what she wanted.
“Try being married to her son!”
Roger’s mouth fell open in surprise at his own words. He began sputtering over what was likely supposed to be an apology, but Sage waved a hand at him.
“Listen. If we are to have any sort of relationship moving forward, we are going to have to accept this uncomfortable truth between us. We were in love with the same man and he picked you over me. It is that simple.”
Roger finally straightened his cravat. “D-do you still love him?”
Sage gave a small shrug and looked out the open window over Roger’s shoulder. “I suspect I always will, in some way. I am certain you of all people would understand that he is not someone your heart can easily let go of.” He turned his attention back to Roger. “Does that bother you?”
Roger pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“No. I understand.”
Sage gave a short nod and watched as Roger poured more tea in his cup.
“But if you’re wondering whether or not I still have feelings for him, rest assured that I’ve no interest in trying to come between the two of you. In light of recent events, I…feel I have a far better understanding of how significant your connection is with him.”
Roger’s expression softened considerably.
“You and Conrad make a lovely pair,” he cooed.
It had only been three days since they’d confessed their true feelings for one another, but they had been the best three days Sage could remember having in a very long time.
He had never experienced such closeness with another person.
It was more than the warm embraces and stolen kisses, it was feeling like a part of him had somehow been left behind when they were not in the room together.
He and Roger had only been in the study for a couple of hours—he had lost count of how many times he checked the clock—and yet he found himself missing his companion as though they had been apart for months.
“I hope your father is serious about offering him a position.”
Roger paused in sipping his tea. “You’ve nothing to worry about. It has all but been decided.”
“He has put everything into this decision,” Sage went on, feeling himself becoming a little desperate. “He deserves it more than anyone I could possibly imagine.”
“You really do care for him, don’t you?”
Sage felt himself go warm. Just as he was trying to collect his thoughts into some sort of explanation, there was a knock at the door. Roger called for the footman to open it. Sage turned in time to see Conrad stepping into the room, hands clasped behind his back, smile bright.
“Conrad,” Roger said warmly. “We were just talking about you. Sage and I have been—er…” he was not at all subtle as he hastened to collect the papers spread out in front of him into a messy stack. “Talking,” he finished weakly.
“I’ve come to ask if I can borrow something from your study.”
“Of course you can,” Roger said, still distracted. “Anything you need.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and leaned down to shove some of the letters into a bottom drawer, disappearing from view. “Working on your day off, are you?”
“Something like that,” Conrad said. He rushed forward and grabbed Sage’s hand, giving him a mischievous grin as he tugged him up out of the chair. “I promise I’ll return it when I’m done!”
Sage gave a final glance over his shoulder as he followed Conrad out of the room. They did not stop running until they were out of the house and alone in the garden. Conrad finally let go of his hand and wrapped his arms around Sage’s waist instead, head on his chest.
“Are you mad?” Sage asked, laughing as he worked to catch his breath. His arms found their way around Conrad’s shoulders as he relaxed into his embrace. The shorter man lifted his head to peer up at him.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But if I am mad for wanting to see you, then I will wear the title with honor.”
Sage hummed. “There are too many madmen in London as it is. We should probably pick a different designation for you, if you wish to have one so badly.”
“Very well. Let me know what you decide.” Conrad stepped away and took his hand again. “In the meantime, I thought it would be nice to walk through the garden together. I only got to see a little bit of it when Roger brought me to collect some materials for our spells.”
“Roger would be able to identify what you are looking at far better than I ever could. He has dozens of those illustrated books about plant life on his shelves.” For a fae, he knew shamefully little about such things.
Conrad chuckled. “That would be far less romantic, though.”
Sage’s magic shimmered in his chest.
Together, they ambled through the garden for hours, following each path several times as they talked.
Whenever they found a bench, they sat for a while.
Sage found that he liked it very much when Conrad allowed him to hold their hands in his lap, tracing his fingertips lightly over the bend of Conrad’s knuckles.
In the fading afternoon light, Sage discovered a scar on one of them, and he asked to hear the story of how he’d earned it.
When Conrad was done telling him, Sage lifted his hand and placed a gentle kiss on the spot.
They enjoyed each other’s company until dinner was called, when they reluctantly rejoined the party for what Sage knew was coming: a fresh wave of teasing remarks about their extended time in the garden.
However, to his surprise, he found that he almost did not mind them as much as he had before.
All he had to do was look at Conrad for a reassuring grin.
“Apologies if you found the bench near the willow at all unsound,” Emrys said at last with a smirk. “There is a possibility that it was sat on a bit too roughly a couple of evenings ago.”
Torquil rolled their eyes with a grin as everyone else around the table expressed various sounds of anguish.
“Oh good,” Keelan said with a sigh of relief. “I thought we might’ve been the ones to—” he stopped suddenly, realizing what he was saying a bit too late. His blush was instant as he hid his face against Silas.
Wyndham appeared thoroughly rankled by their antics in his place at the head of the table. He took a slow sip of wine and reclined in his seat just far enough that his head met the high back of his chair.
“Someone is counting the days until we all go home,” Sage commented. Wyndham shifted his gaze so their eyes met. He was silent for a moment before his focus returned to his wine.
“You have absolutely no idea,” he agreed.