Theo offered a crooked smile. “I do. I used to envy you. My father had no time for me or my brother—he was far too busy indulging in idle pursuits. He left the running of our estates to his manager. He still does.”
“Do you think you would have enjoyed learning about land management? It does not interest everyone.”
“I think I’d have liked it well enough,” Theo said. “The parts that involved being outdoors anyway. I’ve always preferred the outdoors. School days used to feel interminable. I hated being shut up all day long in those freezing class rooms, with those tiny high-up windows you could barely see out of. Especially in winter, when it was always so dark. I never could concentrate on what the masters were saying.”
“Perhaps you'd have found it easier to concentrate if they were teaching you about crop rotation instead of Latin and mathematics.”
“Perhaps,” Theo replied. “Even if I’d hated learning about it, it would have been worth it to have a bit more knowledge now. As it is, I don’t know the first thing about farming or animal husbandry or even understanding accounts.”
“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” George said encouragingly. “I have some books that I could lend you on all of those subjects. And I’d be more than happy to listen and offer advice where I can.”
He half expected Theo to scoff at that offer, but instead, Theo’s smile deepened into something heartfelt and almost shy.
“Really?” he said, eyeing George. “Or would you be horrified if I actually took you up on that offer?”
“Really,” George assured him. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
Theo opened his mouth to say something more, but just then a loud voice called for silence.
Mr. Hewitt had risen from his seat at the main table and was now beaming as he gazed around, seeming well pleased with the collected guests sitting in his ballroom. He began a rambling speech which was probably supposed to be about the bride and groom, but somehow managed to be mostly about himself. At length, though, he came to the point—which was that it was time for the toasts—and proceeded to propose the first one himself.
Mortifyingly, it was to George.
“The young man who will be proposing the first toast to the happy couple is, I must say, the most polite and gentlemanly of all my acquaintance—though I daresay he is the most elevated in rank in this room.” George tried not to visibly cringe, even as Mr. Hewitt continued, unabashed. “Please, raise your glasses and join me in toasting our dear friend, Lord Sherrington.”
Our dear friend?
Beside him, Theo murmured, “Good lord.”
And really, the very first toast at this wedding being made to him, rather than to the bride and groom?
Amused glances were being shared between the guests at Hewitt’s obsequiously pushy outpouring as they obligingly repeated George’s name, then drank.
And then it was his turn.
As he got to his feet, the room quietened. He had prepared an elegant, if rather formal speech and had taken pains to memorise it. It was full of compliments to the bride—whom he had not yet met when he composed it—a little gentle teasing of the groom which raised a few polite titters, and heartfelt wishes for their future happiness and fertility.
At the end, he raised his glass and said, “To the bride and groom. May your union be long, happy and blessed.”
The guests dutifully intoned “to the bride and groom” then drank from their glasses again. And then Piers Fletcher was rising to his feet to make the next toast while George sank back into his seat, relieved it was over.
Theo leaned into him, murmuring, “A very nice speech, George. And now you’re free. We can leave after the toasts are done.”
We?
An odd ripple of excitement went through George at the thought of leaving with Theo, even if only to spend a little more time with the man as they walked back to Mayfair. Or had Theo meant something else? Perhaps a return to Redford’s? What would George say if he suggested that?
It would be madness. For Theo, taking pleasure with another man was likely nothing more personal than a card game. To be fair to him, he had made his feelings on the matter clear before he and George had even gone through to the back room at Redford’s.
“It’s not romantic, George. It’s just meeting physical needs—like scratching an itch.”
But George hadn’t realised exactly what that meant until he’d tried to kiss the man. As grateful as he was for the pleasure Theo had given him, George knew himself well enough to realise he would struggle not to feel rebuffed if that happened again.
Theo was leaning back in his chair now, giving his full attention to Piers’s toast, the flash of humour passing over his face making him even more appealingly handsome than ever.
And good lord, was George’s cock on the rise again? It was damned awkward that he found Theo Caldwell so compelling. It would be a great deal easier if he was indifferent. But he never had been. From the first time they’d met as boys, he’d always been breathless around Theo.
George quickly looked away, his gaze moving around the room and finally landing on the bridal couple. Cecily’s laughing attention was on Piers, but Ollie’s gaze… was on George.
