George wasn't sure what to say to that. The truth was, the feeling was… not mutual. He cleared his throat. “I see. Would you care for some breakfast?”
Ollie shook his head. “Thank you, no. I don’t have long.”
For a moment, they stared at one another awkwardly. There used to be no one in the world that George felt more comfortable with than Ollie. But somehow, over the last two years, that had changed.
Ollie had changed.
Perhaps George had too.
Gesturing at the chair opposite him, George said politely, “Won’t you sit down?”
Ollie raised a brow. “So formal with me, Sherry?” His tone was mildly chastising, but he took a seat.
“So,” George said, when Ollie remained silent. “Why did you want to see me? Is there something you need my help with?”
Ollie looked oddly pained. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I’d been looking forward to seeing you since I got your letter saying you were coming to the wedding, but we barely got the chance to speak yesterday.”
“It’s all right,” George assured him, forcing a smile. “I understood. You’re the groom, after all. You’re expected to talk to everyone. I knew you wouldn't have much time for me.”
Ollie shook his head. “You might not mind, but I do. It’s been so long, and I’ve—I’ve missed your company.”
“Have you?” George asked. Gently, he added, “You could have come to see me in Wiltshire any time you wanted.”
“You could have come to see me in town,” Ollie countered.
“That’s not true,” George said quietly, meeting Ollie’s gaze again. “You asked me to leave. How could I return after that?”
Ollie flushed and dropped his gaze. There was a long silence. Then, eventually, he said, his voice low, “I can’t quite believe I did that now. I was trying to get some distance, you see. It was hard enough finding a suitable bride without having you around, distracting me.” He glanced back at George, offering a rueful smile. George didn’t return it. He couldn’t.
Ollie sighed. “I’m sorry, all right? I wish I hadn’t done that. But the fact is, I needed to find a bride to secure Dinsford Park.”
“I understand,” George said. “And I’m pleased for you. I’m sure you and Cecily will be very happy together.”
Ollie shrugged. “It’s not as though it’s a love match. Once the wedding trip’s over, things will get back to normal.” He met George’s gaze again, his own very serious. “We can go back to how we were before. You know I prefer spending time with you above anyone else.”
George met his gaze. “But you’re married now.”
“So?” Ollie said, hitching one shoulder. “What does that matter? I’m sure Cecily will prefer to spend her days doing women’s things anyway. This is how we always knew things would be. You’ll be married too, soon enough, and hopefully our wives will be friends. Our children too.” He smiled, inviting George to share his pleasure at this vision of the future.
But George could find no pleasure in it, only a slow, simmering resentment at Ollie’s words. “Is that one of Hewitt’s demands?” he said. “Does he want his daughter to be friends with a duchess too? Will he buy you a new carriage-and-four if you manage it?”
Ollie’s eyes widened. “What? No! I just meant—it’s how we always used to talk about our futures.”
“It’s how you used to talk about it,” George said. “It’s not what I want.”
Ollie’s brows drew together. “What do you mean by that? What else is there?”
“I could choose not to marry.”
Ollie laughed, a startled, unamused huff. “What?”
“Though I realise that doesn’t meet with your requirements for friendship,” George added a little bitterly.
Ollie blinked. “My requirements for—what are you saying?”
A rap at the door had them both turning their heads. It was Piggott again.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but there’s another gentleman asking for you. A Mr. Caldwell.”
