When they arrived at Hewitt’s house, it was to find the street lined with carriages. A footman showed them into a drawing room that was already bustling with guests. The wedding breakfast itself was apparently to be served in the large reception room that had been used for the dancing the evening before.
Piers Fletcher spotted them as soon as they walked in and strolled over to greet them. “Looks like we managed to get a good number of guests in the end,” he said jovially. He clapped George’s shoulder. “Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?” George echoed doubtfully.
Piers chuckled. "Aren’t you one of the most desirable marriage prospects in England? Once you said you were coming, lots of other people changed their minds. All those ambitious mamas who were inconsolable when you left town in the middle of the season last year, I expect.” He gave a bray of laughter before leaning in to add more quietly, "The main thing is that Old Man Hewitt’s happy—which means Fletch is too.”
“Well, so long as Fletch is happy,” Theo said, waspishly.
Piers laughed, like this was an old joke between them. “Till he’s not,” he agreed, grinning. He glanced at George then. “You know what he’s like.” When George only stared at him, puzzled, Piers said, “I’ve never known a fellow who complains more than my cousin. Someone else has always got what he wants.” He didn’t sound as though he was criticising Ollie. If anything he seemed amused. Fond even. But then, Piers always had been a good-natured fellow.
And George had to admit his words had a ring of truth to them.
As soon as that thought occurred to George, he felt disloyal. Quickly, he said, “I’m glad he’s happy. He’s always been a good friend to me.”
That prompted another hearty laugh from Piers. "Oh, come on,” he said, elbowing George in the side. “Always? That’s doing it a bit too brown! Don’t you remember that time he put a rat in your desk at school? Fletch said the Latin master just about had an apoplexy when you opened the lid and it jumped out. Said you screamed like a banshee!” He laughed uproariously.
George felt suddenly queasy at the memory, even as he tried to smile. He still vividly remembered the moment the petrified rat had darted out, its sharp yellow teeth on show, ready to bite. He did scream like a banshee, just as Piers had said. And flailed in panic, nearly overturning his chair. He remembered too the surprising heft of the rat’s small body as he batted it away with his left arm. The feel of its claws skittering over his wrist.
He’d laughed along afterwards. He hadn’t wanted anyone to think he was a bad sport. But for some reason, today, he found himself recalling the pang of betrayal he’d felt at being made fun of by Ollie of all people. At the time, he’d berated himself for being over-sensitive, but still, the feeling had lingered.
He was sensitive, he knew that. Knew too that it was a character flaw. How many times had he been told as much at school? But it was hard to stop being something that you simply were. The best he could do was to pretend. So he’d tried, acting as though it didn’t hurt when the other boys made fun of him, or Ollie played one of his pranks, or Theo Caldwell refused to give him his book back until he'd climbed the highest tree in the school grounds.
“Did you know,” Piers said then, distracting George from his thoughts, “Caldwell here gave Ollie hell about that prank!” He shook his head, seeming very amused by this.
Stunned, George turned to look at Theo. “Did you?” he said, astonished.
Theo flushed—actually flushed! Almost belligerently, he said, “Of course I did! It was a stupid, reckless prank. You could have been bitten—rats carry all sorts of diseases, and they’re aggressive when they're cornered.”
“If you remember, we did far worse in our time,” Piers pointed out. “But then you always were protective of Gracie—oh, damn!” He sent George an apologetic look. “Sorry, Sherry. Caldwell says you don’t like that name.”
George blinked at him, then turned back to Theo, but Theo had turned away to beckon over a nearby footman bearing a tray of glasses. George could see his cheeks were pink, though, despite his face being averted.
Was he embarrassed?
When the footman reached them, they each relieved him of one of the glasses on the tray. Then Theo immediately changed the subject, starting in on a long story about some fellow Piers knew who’d just bought a gelding at great expense that had proven to be a dud. George couldn’t concentrate on the story at all. He let the words drift over him as he pondered what Piers had just revealed.
Theo had been annoyed about Ollie’s prank? Protective of him?
Perhaps if they’d been alone, George would have asked Theo more about it, but he couldn’t in front of Piers. And anyway, after a few minutes, he was collared by Lady Marston and her twin daughters, and then Edward Castleton approached, eager to introduce his unmarried sister. And so it went on. Every time George thought he was about to get free, someone else would glide in front of him. Even Ollie's father came to greet him, his expression disturbingly jovial. The last time George had seen Sir Joseph, the man had still been sweating from the effort of thrashing his own son and barely holding on to his temper as he’d ordered George to pack his things and leave Dinsford Park. Yet now, today, he was all smiles and geniality, so delighted that Sherrington could come, and how was his father, and goodness but it had been far too long since they’d seen him at Dinsford Park. George had been very glad to take his leave of him, even though it meant being besieged by yet more marriageable young ladies and their mamas.
It was the first time George had been in such a milieu in months, and even as he smiled and talked in quite the old way, he was thinking of how his life had changed in that time. How he had changed. Not so very long ago, he would have been wondering if any of these young ladies might make him a suitable wife. He’d never longed to be married, but he’d always assumed it would happen one day, reasoning that there would be compensations—companionship, a family. And anyway, who in this world got what they truly wanted? That was a childish, selfish way to look at life.
Or so he’d thought, only half a year ago. But after Kit Redford had come to live with his father, the world had tilted on its axis. George’s father had let him know that he was under no obligation to marry. The dukedom would find a home with someone, perhaps his brother Freddy, or Freddy’s sons if he had any. If not, it would eventually land in the lap of some cousin or other, but that was all right. By then, they would all—his father, and George and Freddy—be gone and their family members taken care of, so why would it matter anyway?
“I only want you to be happy,” his father had said, making it sound so simple, but George had known from his worried gaze that he was thinking, And I don’t think you are.
And he was right.
The sad truth was, being happy was the one thing George could not give him.
You could not will yourself happy.
Before that conversation with his father—before the world tilted on its axis—George hadn’t questioned his future. It had been understood, or at least George had believed it was understood, what his future would be. It was the reason he had agreed with Ollie, after that disastrous summer, that there would be no more intimacy between them. And it was the reason he had not followed his secret impulses with any other man.
It should probably have made George deliriously happy when his father told him to live his life in accordance with his own needs and desires. But it had not. For reasons he could not quite fathom, he’d felt bereft after. Aimless somehow. If not marriage, then what? What was his life to be now? His future felt at once dizzyingly open and horribly empty. Devoid of meaning, of purpose. And all these months later, he was still drifting, unable to picture his future for the first time since boyhood.
Perhaps that was why, in a strange way, the social whirl of this wedding celebration, dull as it was, felt almost comforting. He was back in familiar territory, conversing lightly with one hopeful young lady after another, absently cataloguing their looks and characters and accomplishments. Wondering idly if they might match, even as he knew he would do nothing to pursue any of them.
