From time to time, between polite conversations, he would glance around the room, his gaze briefly stilling whenever it found Theo Caldwell—usually looking utterly bored while someone else talked at him. It was a sight that made George smile for some reason. Perhaps because Theo made so little effort to hide his true feelings. A part of George had always envied Theo his unapologetic lack of interest in the social niceties.
After a while, though, he couldn’t seem to find Theo anywhere. Had he grown so bored that he’d decided to leave, George wondered? In the same way that he’d abruptly left last night's dinner? The pang of disappointment that pierced George at that thought was surprisingly sharp.
Finally, the guests were invited to make their way to the ballroom for the wedding breakfast. George strolled out of the drawing room with everyone else, but all the time his gaze was wandering, searching. He was so intent on looking for Theo that he barely noticed the lavishly decorated ballroom when first he entered. It was only the gasps of the other guests that penetrated his preoccupation enough to make him notice the enormous floral displays, diaphanous wall hangings, and sumptuous tables, glittering with silver and crystal. An ensemble of musicians played a light, joyful tune as the guests filed in to take their seats, a half dozen footmen industriously ushering each guest to his or her place, the ladies taking their seats, while the gentlemen waited behind their chairs.
One of the footmen led George towards the bride and groom’s table, and George realised, with a sinking feeling, that he was probably about to be stuck with Mr. Hewitt again. But then, quite suddenly, the footman came to an abrupt halt. So sudden that George accidentally trod on his heel.
“I beg your pardon,” George said automatically, and the man turned to look at him with a wide, slightly panicky gaze.
“Excuse my clumsiness, my lord,” he said, quickly recovering. “It’s only that I was sure you were to be seated here, but the name card says?—”
A familiar voice from another table interrupted. “You’re over here, Sherrington,” Theo called out. “Next to me.”
George’s heart gave a giddy little skip, and he turned to find Theo looking at him with a perfectly innocent expression, though there was, perhaps, the faintest glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
Beside George, the footman made a sound of dismay, plainly aware both that something was up and that he could not challenge another wedding guest over it. For a moment George considered stepping in to sort out the mistake, but the truth was, he didn’t want to sit here—he wanted to sit with Theo. And so, for once, he decided, he wasn’t going to do the right thing.
Turning on his heel, he headed in Theo’s direction, taking his place behind the chair next to Theo’s and noting, with amusement, that the place card at his place setting wasn’t sitting quite as straight as the others on the table.
“Did you move my place card?” he whispered to Theo under his breath, a helpless note of laughter in his voice.
Theo winked at him. “I managed to sneak in here half an hour ago. Fletch’s Great-aunt Gertrude has been elevated to a place a dashed sight nearer the bride and groom.”
George giggled. Giggled. He covered his mouth, mortified. “Hewitt will be livid,” he said. “He’ll probably try to move me back.”
Theo snorted. “He can try. Look, Great-aunt Gertie’s already made herself comfortable.”
He nodded his head at the bride and groom’s table, and sure enough, a corpulent older lady was sitting in pride of place, looking very pleased with herself, and holding an ear trumpet in the direction of her neighbour.
“Everyone will know you moved the place cards,” George said in another muffled whisper. “Who sits two unmarried gentlemen together?”
But Theo just tossed one shoulder, unconcerned. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”
George blinked at him, then bit his lip against a helpless smile. Who cares? he thought, trying out the idea in his mind. Who cares?
When nearly all the guests were in place, a very flustered footman bustled up to George. “My lord,” he said in an urgent whisper, “excuse my interruption, but I’m afraid there has been some mistake. You are supposed to be sitting at the top table. If I could prevail upon you to kindly come with me, I will?—”
“No, thank you, but I wouldn’t think of troubling you.” George heard his own, surprisingly firm voice emerge with distant amazement. “I see the top table is already full, and it would quite rude to disrupt things now. In any event, I am perfectly happy where I am.”
The footman stared him, his expression torn. He had, most likely, been given very clear instructions by his master, but how could he gainsay George’s firm response?
George smiled at him. “Please convey to Mr Hewitt that I’m very comfortable and looking forward to what I am sure will be an excellent repast.”
“Very good, my lord,” the footman said heavily. A minute later, George spotted him whispering in Mr. Hewitt’s ear, while the man scowled irritably.
“Do you think he knows it was me?” Theo murmured. He sounded amused, and George had look down at the table to hide his own smile.
Finally, all the guests were in place, and the gentlemen took their seats. George introduced himself to the elderly man on his left, who nodded and smiled benignly as George spoke, then said precisely nothing in return. His rheumy eyes fairly lit up, though, when two footmen appeared and began serving the first course—white soup, roasted turbot and buttered asparagus.
“Are you hungry?” Theo murmured to George. “I seem to remember that when we were at school you ate like a horse.”
“I’m absolutely starved,” George admitted. “Since we were having communion, I couldn’t have breakfast this morning.”
Theo snorted. “Oh, George, you really are a very good boy, aren't you?”
George flushed with embarrassment, but when he glanced at Theo, expecting to see a mocking look… he was surprised. Theo’s expression was oddly indulgent. Warm, even. For a moment, their gazes caught and held, and George felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
And then the footman was at his elbow with the soup tureen and George turned away gratefully, his face on fire.
