George did not. He still wore that cool, reserved expression.
“Good evening, Sherrington,” Theo said. “It’s been a long while since last I saw you. You look to be in good health, I must say.”
“It has been a while,” George agreed, politely. “Near enough ten years—I haven’t seen you since you left St. Dominic’s, and I don’t think we’ve ever encountered one another in town?” He paused, then added diffidently, “Not that I come to London so very often.”
“Probably more often than I do,” Theo replied, offering a rueful grin. “I am not one for society events.”
George’s expression did not warm. “You prefer the country?”
“I prefer adventure,” Theo replied. “I only recently returned from the Continent."
“That doesn’t surprise me,” George admitted. “You always wanted to go exploring when we were at Dinsford Park.” He was not smiling, and Theo wondered why he was being so cold. Was the young matron right about George after all? Had he changed so much since his schooldays?
Theo glanced at Hewitt who was watching their interaction with unabashed curiosity. “I take it you two are acquainted?”
George cleared his throat. “We were at the same school—myself, Mr. Caldwell, and Oliver and Piers Fletcher. Caldwell and I often visited Dinsford Park at the same time over the summer.”
Hewitt gave a genial chuckle. “I’m sure you got up to all sorts of mischief when you were there. I expect you had Sir Joseph tearing his hair out from time to time.”
George gave a small, tight smile in response, neither confirming nor denying Hewitt’s speculation.
“Well, Mr. Hewitt,” Theo said, in a tone that he hoped indicated a change of subject. “I really must be going. Thank you for your hospitality this evening. I think you must have the best cook in England.”
Hewitt looked gratified by the compliment. “Given the outrageous salary I’m paying Monsieur Fournier, I should hope so.”
Turning back to George, Theo added, “I’m sorry we’ve not had a chance to speak this evening. Hopefully we can do so tomorrow?”
“Indeed,” George replied, not quite meeting Theo’s gaze. Theo had to fight the urge to scowl. Had he offended George with his easy manner? Or was this something else? Lingering mortification over their last encounter?
Annoyed now, he returned his attention to Hewitt, who was lifting his glass in salute. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Caldwell," the man said, grinning. “And remember, once you are wed, there will be no more pleasures of the sort you’re about to indulge in, so make the most of it while you may.”
“And that, Mr. Hewitt,” Theo replied, “is exactly why I plan never to marry.”
5
GEORGE
George watched Theo Caldwell stroll out of Hewitt’s dining room, struck by how unaltered the man was. He looked older, of course, but he still had that easy confidence George had always envied at school. It was in his bearing, and it was in the way he spoke too. Theo Caldwell always sounded as though he knew exactly what he thought and exactly what to say. And as though he didn’t give a damn whether you liked it or not.
Hewitt drained his glass. “That fellow is going straight to some lightskirt’s bed. A hundred guineas if I’m wrong.”
“That’s not a wager I’m willing to take,” George replied, quite sure Hewitt was right.
Hewitt laughed delightedly. “Very wise, my lord,” he said, even as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Would you excuse me for a moment? We old men must relieve ourselves more often than you young fellows.” Clapping a heavy hand on George’s shoulder, he hiccoughed and added, “I’ll return forthwith.”
As Hewitt walked, slightly unsteadily, away, George glanced around the table at the other gentlemen. Eventually, inevitably, his gaze landed on Ollie, who was sitting alone, an empty chair on either of side of him. When their gazes met, one side of Ollie’s mouth quirked up, and he lifted a hand, beckoning George over with a lazy curve of his fingers.
It was typical of Ollie, that gesture, and George found himself bristling at the assumption that he would go trotting over to receive whatever scraps of attention Ollie was minded to dish up. Nevertheless, they needed to speak at some point, and now was as good a time as any. So, he ignored the simmering resentment in his belly and rose to his feet.
“Has Hewitt talked your ear off yet?” Ollie asked when George slid into the chair beside him.
“Not yet. Both ears are still thankfully intact. How has your evening been?”
“Oh wonderful,” Ollie replied with a curl of his lip. “I had the delight of sitting between my mute soon-to-be-mother-in-law and my own delightful mother who can barely bring herself to speak to me, she’s so unhappy about my forthcoming nuptials.”
George was not surprised by that news. Lady Fletcher was the very definition of high in the instep. She would undoubtedly be mortified that she was about to be linked by marriage to the Hewitt family.
“What about you?” Ollie asked, lifting his glass and sinking half of it. “How have you enjoyed your conversation with my future father-in-law? Let me guess—he was telling you all about how he’s tidily sewn up the Fletcher family and estate for the next twenty years.”
