Chapter 1
One Winter Night by Ellie Thomas
William Grant opened his front door and entered the narrow house on Henrietta Street.
He was instantly grateful for the darkness and quiet, a respite from the lively nighttime bustle of Drury Lane.
Even after many years of working as a professional musician, Will still felt that rush of exhilaration mixed with exhaustion after a concert.
Without needing any light to guide him, Will shrugged off his hat and coat, throwing them over the banister. He went through to the parlour and lit a lamp, putting down his violin case before he knelt to rake the banked down fire and add fresh coals.
Will smiled to himself as he performed the simple domestic task.
I must be getting old, preferring to sit quietly by the fire. I could be carousing around the corner in a Covent Garden tavern if I so chose.
Yet the invitation from Luc, a fellow violinist more than a decade Will’s junior, had been a mere courtesy. Luc was dashing off to meet the handsome actor who had captured and held his heart.
Young love, Will thought indulgently as he watched the flames catching the coals. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with love of a more mature vintage. I, for one, am certainly not complaining.
Martin Dunne, Will’s companion of seventeen years standing, might be dining elsewhere, but his presence remained. The precise arrangement of the furniture and careful ordering of the possessions they had chosen together put Martin’s stamp on the room.
A quick glance revealed that there was no scatter of sheet music on the floor or chairs.
I could have sworn I left my music lying around.
Before dashing off, Will had promised himself that he would put away the stray sheets on his return.
Martin must have organised them for me, Will thought with a rueful grin as he thought of his partner grumbling under his breath at Will’s habitual untidiness. After so many years together, Will knew that Martin’s complaints were a mere matter of form.
Will’s creative chaos countered Martin’s tendency to rigid order.
Will tried to be considerate, and mostly, he succeeded. But when preparing for a performance, he got so caught up in his thoughts and feelings about the piece he was about to play that he invariably left some musical detritus littering their parlour.
I’m lucky that Martin doesn’t really mind.
Tidying up after Will was one of the many ways in which Martin showed his unswerving devotion and the care that made their house a home. Will was warmed by the idea of Martin’s steady kindness as much as the freshly blazing fire.
As always, his emotions needed an outlet, to be expressed through music.
He dismissed the notion of sitting by the fire with a glass of wine.
I’ll hold off until Martin comes home and then we can indulge together.
Impatiently, he unbuttoned his waistcoat, and loosened his cravat before removing his violin from the case. Earlier, he had played to an audience for payment and to enhance his reputation, but now he craved a more personal connection.
Music, alongside Martin, remained his ultimate release.
Will tucked the violin under his chin and flicked through his mental catalogue of pieces.
Something joyful tonight, he decided. A paeon of gratitude.
He glanced around the comfortable room, testament to his and Martin’s lasting happiness and relative prosperity.
Not that we don’t have our arguments.
Such contrasting natures could occasionally misalign.
But that makes our reunions even sweeter, Will thought with a grin, recalling the many occasions in which their clothes had been strewn about the neat parlour in the heat of passion.
The musical phrases flowed through his fingers before he made a conscious choice. The melody unfolded, filling the room, adding another layer to the recollections of his and Martin’s enduring love.
* * * *
Chapter 2
As the last note died away, Will started at the sound of applause, breaking the spell that the music had cast.
Martin was lounging against the door frame.
“That was splendid,” he said. He straightened up and came towards Will.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I know what you’re like when you get caught up in your music.” Martin smiled. “I was content to enjoy my private recital.” He crossed towards the chair, automatically straightening Will’s discarded coat. “Was that from one of Mozart’s pieces?”
Will smiled as he set down the violin. When they first met, Martin had a fair appreciation of music, but their years together had proved an education.
“Yes, you’re correct. ‘Concerto Number One.’”
“Lovely.”
Martin placed his hands on Will’s shoulders.
Will looked up at his taller companion, conscious as always of their physical contrast. Martin’s square-jawed face was slightly flushed from food and drink, softening his slightly forbidding aspect.
Will thought that the silver strands lacing his dark hair lent him distinction.
Like Will, he might be approaching forty, but strict discipline meant that his solid build hadn’t dared to turn to fat.
He appeared precisely what he was, an accomplished, meticulous civil servant who dealt in straightforward competence rather than charming flattery to gain promotion.
Martin’s eyes grew soft with affection as they regarded each other. Will felt an impulse to fling himself onto Martin’s arms like he had done when they first met.
All those years before, Will was at a low ebb; thwarted, restless, and isolated. As well as finding Martin irresistibly attractive, Will had sensed his innate reliability. That this was a man with whom he could feel safe.
Martin’s lips brushed against Will’s forehead.
“Do you care to join me in a glass of wine? Or rather, since you were home before me, can I fill up your glass?”
“Why not? And I haven’t partaken as yet. I preferred to wait and enjoy a drink with you.”
Martin looked pleased at that declaration. He crossed to the sideboard where they kept the decanters.
“How was your dinner?”
“Tedious.”
Martin passed Will a glass of wine before settling into an armchair.
“The food was greasy and the conversation equally unpalatable. I wish I didn’t have to attend these things.”
“Comes with being a bigwig and running your own government department.”
Will perched on Martin’s knee and took a sip of wine.
“How was the concert?”
“Well-received as far as I can tell. The orchestra was in sparkling form.”
“And how does young Luc?”
Will smiled. Since Luc’s return to London’s musical scene a few years back, following a hasty trip abroad, the young violinist had been a regular visitor to Henrietta Street. Martin had easily accepted the young man as Will’s protégée.
“He’s very well. Going from strength to strength in his performances.”
“Good.”
Martin slid an arm around Will’s waist to anchor him. “I know you’re fond of the lad.”
“He reminds me of myself at that age.”
Martin looked quizzical.
Will laughed.
“Not physically, although we are both spare in build. But he towers over me and is as dark as I am fair, although I’m sure my hair will turn from blond to white soon enough. I mean in terms of ambition. Luc is so hungry for music, and to establish himself more securely.”
Will didn’t add that he recognised a sense of vulnerability in Luc. A deep-seated yearning from the long struggle to achieve recognition against all odds.
And the fact that, like me, Luc’s taste runs to men rather than women.
Will clearly remembered the sensation that the world was ranged against him as a youth. He had reached out to Luc on impulse due to fellow-feeling.
“He’s a genuine talent and deserves every success.”
“Like his mentor,” Martin said gruffly. “You’ve overcome heaven and earth to get to where you are in your profession. You’re remarkably single-minded for a little dab chick.”
Will grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please do. If you weren’t so dainty, you couldn’t take your regular place on my knee, which I would sorely miss. What you lack in bulk you make up for in sheer determination.”
“Ah, but in my case, I had a secret weapon.”
“What was that?” Martin lifted the glass to his lips.
“You.”
Martin spluttered into his wine.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “You were the one with the dreams and the fortitude to carry them through to fruition. Anyone else, including myself, would have given up long before and plumped for an easier option.”
“I almost did, more times than I can count,” Will confessed. “But I had you by my side. You helped me believe I could achieve my dreams over time and with a little good fortune. And most of all, you gave me the means to escape from my father’s clutches.”
Martin grimaced.
“I could hardly have left you to his mercy. I found it wearing enough to defer to Sir Hervey at the War Office and I only had to suffer his edicts occasionally when he deigned to address me. At least I didn’t have to tolerate him as a parent.
Or should I say, gaoler. I’m aware I’m very fortunate in my family, but I was shocked at his treatment of you, as a pawn in his schemes, attempting to force a marriage between you and Imogen against both your wishes. ”
Sitting in Martin’s lap, that long-ago pressure and uncertainty, acute though it had been at the time, seemed further away than seventeen years.
Perhaps because everything worked out for the best.
Instead of being forced into matrimony, Imogen, Will’s closest childhood ally, had married her intended, George, after some contriving from Will.
Meanwhile, Martin had arranged for Will to have an interview for a post in the Ordnance Office, under the auspices of Sir Hervey’s direct political rival.
This opportunity snatched Will away from his father’s household and his inevitable wrath that that his plans had gone awry, along with the plot of land he wished to possess, included as part of Imogen’s marriage settlement.
“I suppose it’s ancient history now,” Martin continued.
“What with your father losing his post when Addison’s government was defeated in ‘04 and subsequently falling out with his patron.” Martin grimaced.
“Sir Hervey might be a martinet but he should have known better than to publicly berate a viscount. Yet his subsequent retirement to the countryside worked in our favour at least. Even now, he scarcely shows his face in London.”
“I’m thankful for that small mercy.”
In the intervening years, Will had grown in assurance as his father’s public role had noticeably diminished.
I’m no longer a boy, terrified of encountering my father unexpectedly to receive a dressing down or even a horse whipping.
On occasion, when he had spotted his father in a box seat at a concert, alone apart from a few dependent family members, Will could even feel a certain amount of pity.
He only has his pride and over-ambition, rather than real friends and supporters. Little wonder that he’s virtually ignored.
Will sighed and laid his head against Martin’s shoulder.
The lack of family feeling no longer stung.
I have Martin, his siblings, and their children and, of course, Imogen and George and their brood. I have no regrets, he thought as Martin’s arm tightened around him.
The clerical post that Martin had contrived for Will was as tedious as he had warned, but the role bought Will precious independence and the start of a life away from his father’s stifling rule.
For the first few years, Will had managed to combine musical engagements at night with his daytime office job, even if he was yawning at his desk.
“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t met you.”
“Nothing much different, I imagine. Although I don’t want to think of you happily settled with someone else.”
“That would never happen.”
Martin kissed the top of Will’s head.
“Thankfully, we will never know. But in terms of your professional success, well, that’s a given. You would have managed somehow, I’m sure. I’ve never met a more determined man. You always get what you want in the end.”
“As long as that includes you.”
Will lifted his face for a kiss.
Once Will had been sufficiently established at Drury Lane theatre to quit his daily drudgery, and moved into this house with Martin, some of his fellow brothers of the string had been askance at his choice of companion.
They were unperturbed that Will had chosen a man as his lover.
The entertainment world was far more relaxed about such matters than wider society. What perplexed them was that Martin had no artistic aspirations whatsoever.
“Ain’t he a bit of a dull dog?” his friends would ask. “You could pick a much livelier fellow if you tried.”
They failed to comprehend that Will had chosen Martin precisely for these qualities. Martin’s supportive steadiness was the perfect antidote to the autocratic disdain of Will’s father.
“It had better include me.”
Martin’s reply was slightly breathless.
From their first meeting, he had never failed to show his physical response to Will, which was returned in full.
Will kissed him again and toyed with Martin’s waistcoat buttons. He slipped a hand between the waistcoat and Martin’s shirt, a thin covering between his fingers and warm bare skin.
Martin groaned.
“You had me at your mercy from the moment I set eyes on you. How could a mere mortal withstand such sorcery?”
“Sorcery? Really?” Will smiled.
“Absolutely. One look from you and my heart was captured. Offering your arse sealed the deal.”
They both laughed.
Will’s fingers brushed over Martin’s nipple, making him shiver.
“So the way you recall, I seduced you by witchcraft?”
“What else could it be? I have been held captive by your charms these seventeen years.”
“Oh, have you indeed?”
Will shifted in Martin’s lap, straddling him.
Martin reached up a hand to cup his cheekbone.
“I was enthralled by your ethereal beauty, like a will-o’-the-wisp, as you wove your charms about me, with your magical instrument.”
“What? This one?”
Will nudged his pelvis against Martin.
“I was thinking of your violin but that will suffice.” Martin waggled his eyebrows.
The air around them seemed to vibrate with the joy and gratitude of the concerto Will had played.
The light and shade of everyday affection and lasting love.
Will pressed his body against Martin, revelling in his immediate response.
Then Martin’s stomach emitted a loud gurgle.
“I told you the food was greasy.”
“Perhaps your stomach might complain less if we went upstairs to lie down.”
Martin nodded. “My stomach is entirely compatible with that suggestion.”
“And what about the rest of you?”
“Eager and willing to comply.”
“Then I will fulfil your every wish.”
Before Will could dismount, Martin stretched out a hand to caress his face and said, “My darling, you always do.”