That was, in fact, not an inaccurate summary of the position, but George said, diplomatically, “I wasn’t really listening.”
“Well, I can tell you, that’s what he’s done.” Ollie gave a bitter laugh. “He’s already bought up all the mortgages over the estate, you know. But he’s not releasing them right away. I need to get a son on Cecily first. An heir.” George winced at the plainness of his language, but Ollie didn’t even seem to notice.
“I’m doing all right out of it,” he went on, offering George a tight half-smile and a shrug. “He’s making Cecily and I a gift of a house in town, and I’ll be getting a quarterly allowance—a generous one. And then there’s Cecily’s dowry which is going into trust. There should be a decent income from that. I won’t be quite as wealthy as you, of course.” Here, he flashed George a sharp grin, and George smiled wanly back, reminded suddenly that the disparity in their wealth had always been a sore spot for Ollie. “But I’ll be a dashed sight better off than my father.” He laughed again. “Can you imagine? He’ll be the one having to ask me for money after this.”
George stared at Ollie, unsure how to respond. Not that Ollie seemed to notice his hesitancy. He ploughed on, his faintly slurred voice betraying that he’d been drinking steadily all evening. “The debt to Hewitt won’t be repaid just by Cecily and I producing a son. That man knows how to strike a bargain to his advantage. I’ve a list of duties as long as your arm to fulfil. We're to help with Cecily’s siblings too, easing their path into polite society. Eventually, we’ll be bringing her sisters out so they can land husbands of their own—loftier ones than me, you understand.” He paused to drain his glass, and refill it from the port decanter at his elbow. “And then there’ll be the business of finding a suitable borough for dear little Richard to represent in the House of Commons. Oh, and of course, hosting my delightful father-in-law whenever he decides he wants to come and lord it over me.” He shook his head, met George’s gaze, and said, “It’s a devil’s bargain. But what else am I to do?”
George just sat there, saying nothing. What could he say, after all? You don’t actually have to marry her? You could try earning a living? But who was he to judge? George was among the wealthiest and most marriageable men in England. He had never been in Ollie's position.
And yet, he found he was judging Ollie. The way Ollie’s monologue veered from self-pity to obvious pleasure at the thought of his new wealth was… distasteful. If Ollie wanted the benefits of this marriage, and he clearly did, then the least he could do was put a good face on it, for his bride's sake if no one else’s.
Ollie was still talking—something about Mr. Hewitt's iron grip on the wedding arrangements—but George was only half-listening now. Not only that, his hand had stolen into his pocket and he was fingering the calling card for Redford’s, absently tracing the sharp edges. A new thought came to him then: what if he went to Redford’s, instead of staying here? His stomach twisted with a strange feeling that felt like excitement and fear together. Why should he not leave? He had given enough of himself this evening, had listened politely to Mr. Hewitt all through dinner without complaint, and tomorrow, he would publicly toast the future happiness of Ollie and his new bride. What more could Ollie, or anyone else, want of him? It wasn’t even as though he would be the first to leave. Theo Caldwell had already gone, hadn’t he? And with Mr. Hewitt’s blessing.
“Sherry, are you listening?”
Ollie’s tone was irritated. George blinked and focused on him. “Sorry,” he said. “I was miles away. I’m still rather tired from the journey. In fact, I think I’ll take my leave now.”
“What?” Ollie’s brows drew together. “You can’t leave now! The dancing?—”
“I’m sorry,” George interrupted, rising from his chair. With an odd thrill, he realised he didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “I really am very tired.”
At this, Ollie’s frown became a glare. Some men looked handsome and brooding when they were unsmiling, but Ollie just looked peevish. It diminished him somehow.
“The ladies will be very disappointed,” he said tightly. “There aren’t quite enough single gentlemen to go round as it is.”
Was that all he was, George thought, just a convenient body to make up the numbers?
“I’m sure one of the married gentlemen will oblige,” he replied coolly. “If it’s just a case of making up a set.”
Ollie stilled at whatever he saw on George’s face. For long moments, he was silent. Then he said, almost reproachfully, “Don’t be like that, George.”
All evening, Ollie had been Sherry-ing him—until now. Until he wanted something. Only then was he George.
“Don’t be like what?” he said, and his voice came out with uncharacteristic sharpness. Ollie’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Cold,” Ollie said. “Irritable. It’s not like you.”
“Earlier, you said I’m too courteous for my own good.” George gave a harsh laugh. “So, I’ve not to be cold, or irritable, or courteous. Tell me, what would you prefer?”
“I would prefer you to be my friend,” Ollie snapped. “Someone I thought I could rely on to stay to the end of a damned dinner the day before my wedding. Is that really too much to ask of you?”
Hurt and anger warred in George. “I got up before dawn this morning to drive to London so I could come to this dinner,” he said quietly. “And I’ve just spent the last few hours pandering to your father-in-law. If I owed you anything tonight, I think I’ve done my duty.”
Ollie's frown deepened. “I’m only asking you to stay another hour, What's one more hour?”
It would not be an hour, though. It would be at least that long until the dancing even began, and then there would be a few sets, each lasting half an hour. And there would hopeful young ladies and their mamas to be navigated. And gentlemen who wanted to speak with him. And probably a late supper.
And he honestly couldn’t bear another moment of it.
He opened his mouth to say so, but before he could get out a word, a large hand clapped down on Ollie’s shoulder, and an equally large body settled into the empty chair on the other side of him.
“Evening, coz,” Piers said cheerfully. “Why d’you look like you found a penny and lost a guinea?”
Ollie sighed, irritably. “What do you want, Piers?”
“Came to talk to Gracie, actually,” Piers said. “How are you, Gra—sorry, Sherry. It’s been years.”
“I’m very well, thank you,” George said, trying to paste a passable smile onto his face. "And yes, it has been a long time, hasn't it? I don’t think we’ve seen each other since that summer at Dinsford Park after you left St. Dominic’s?”
