“I guess,” James says, thinking of the small back room at the Inside Inn near Epworth. The comfortable chairs, the worn wooden table, the back door that led out to the woods. Safe, guarded, secluded.
He can’t imagine how Reginald’s brother, Thomas Parker, could possibly create a space that secret or comfortable in London. His club is supposed to be the safest refuge for men of a certain persuasion in the city. But James doesn’t know how that can be true when it feels like there are eyes everywhere.
“Give it some thought, that’s all,” Reginald says. He pushes back his chair and gets up. “It’s not like you’re going to meet a nice man elsewhere.”
James nods and looks back down at his plate, the crumbs of his scone too closely resembling the shambles of his life.
“What would you like pressed for tomorrow? I’ll tell Gabriel on my way to bed.”
James lets out a low moan. He’d almost forgotten. “I don’t care.” He puts his head back into his hands.
“Come now, it’s your very first day. We need to make a good impression.”
James is tempted to tell him to sod off, but he knows Reginald is right. Even if just to keep his stepfather off his back, he needs to make some effort. “Nothing my mother bought me. Classic, elegant, simple.”
“Aye-aye,” Reginald says merrily, drawing James’ gaze up tofind him posed, hands on his hips. “We’ll make you the best-dressed young lord in parliament. On my honor.”
“Sod your honor,” James says gruffly, laughing despite himself as Reginald lets loose a low, rumbly chuckle. The man’s too charming for his own good.
“Get some sleep, yeah? Gabriel will have everything ready come morning.”
James forces a smile and watches Reginald head out the servants’ door and down toward his room. Tonight was exhausting, and tomorrow promises to be even worse. Him, a sitting lord? Him, making laws? Him, the blockhead who couldn’t even be charming to the man he’s fancied since university—how is he ever supposed to impress the House of Lords?
***
He pulls at his collar as he sits beside Lord Mason the next morning. The red leather bench below him is stiff. He stares up at the gilded walls and ceiling of the parliament chamber, trying not to fidget as the lord chancellor goes on and on about the rules of procedure and the order of discussion and votes.
James is stuck between Lord Mason and Lord Havenfort, who both seem deeply interested in procedure, forcing James to at least pretend to care too. It’s almost an hour in and they’re only now getting to the actual bills on the docket.
“The third act for discussion will be the Medical Act, proposing the establishment of a General Medical Council, which will require and oversee accreditation for physicians, to be added to a public registry of those wishing to practice. Debate will be held—”
The chancellor goes on to the schedule for the debates and someone sneezes loudly across the room. James glances acrossthe aisle and his whole body goes cold. Richard Raverson stares back, giving James a sly, triumphant smile.
Raverson was the most handsome man in his class, with a smile so magnetic he could get away with anything. Skipping classes, a poor essay, stealing plates and trinkets and possessions—he was untouchable. And his way with men... no one was immune.
Least of all James, who became Raverson’s obsession in his second year. Raverson wooed him with dinners, expensive wines, and outings to all manner of activities. He made James feel like he was the most sought-after, most intriguing man alive. And James fell for it, head over arse.
He was so beguiled by Raverson’s affections that he didn’t see the true man beneath until it was far too late. Until he’d told his darkest secrets and shared his body with a man who would just as quickly tell him ofothermen’s secrets and bodies and prowess. Eventually, Raverson saw a new, shinier young man and left James behind. But by then, it was too late, and James couldn’t recapture his safety, couldn’t reclaim himself from Raverson.
And now, Raverson is sitting in the House of Lords, surrounded by red leather and gold leaf, with all those secrets, all that information, still at his fingertips. James knew, of course, that Raverson’s father had died last year. But somehow in the flurry of turning twenty-one, taking over his own unwanted title, and leaving his quiet country existence behind, James hadn’t put two and two together that he would be sitting in the Lords with the man who—
“Absolutely preposterous,” Lord Havenfort hisses. “It’s 1858.”
“We’ll join the committee, make sure it’s done correctly for a quick passage in the Commons,” Lord Mason says across James, his face about as purple as Lord Havenfort’s.
James blinks, pulled back to reality as the chancellor moves on to some final announcement. He thinks the last bill mentioned was to create a registry of doctors. Shouldn’t that already exist?
“You don’t agree?”
James nearly jumps, turning to Lord Mason as he notices everyone around them starting to move. “Beg pardon?”
“Were you paying any attention? Lord Havenfort wants us to join him this week at the club to do research into the independent lists of physicians kept by local hospitals, to prepare to join the standing committee.”
James must not do a good job of hiding his confusion, because Lord Mason shakes his head and files out ahead of him. James glances back, but Lord Havenfort isn’t even there, already walking out of the room with more important lords.
He tells himself it doesn’t matter. No one thinks he’s worth talking to, because he isn’t. No one missed the Demeroven vote last year, so why does it matter how he votes or participates now? If Lord Mason and Lord Havenfort have already written him off simply for being less invested, then that’s their choice.
He shuffles out of the chamber, trying not to look for Raverson while simultaneously searching fervently in hopes of avoiding him. But clearly James isn’t a big enough fish for Raverson to trifle with because he spots nothing but blank, monotonous faces on his way out. At least that’s one confrontation he doesn’t have to face today.
