George snorted. “I expect it sounds more romantic when a Welshman says it.”
“I expect so,” Theo agreed, chuckling.
He began unwrapping the neat packages the innkeeper’s wife had stuffed the knapsack with. It was the usual fare—meat pie and cheese, buttered bread and fruit—but it looked twice as appealing as normal, after all the exercise and fresh air of the last few hours.
They ate their fill, enjoying the view as the stiff breeze cooled them.
“Can I ask you something?” Theo asked, passing George the water canteen. “It’s about Redford’s.”
Feeling wary, George uncapped the canteen and took a deep draught before he answered. “All right.”
Theo’s met his gaze, his own curious. “How did you get the references to join?”
George grimaced. He’d wondered if this might come up at some point. Redford’s vetted its prospective members exceedingly carefully. No one was considered without references from two current members. Naturally, Theo would wonder how someone as inexperienced as George could possibly manage such a thing.
Shrugging, he told the truth. “I didn’t have references.”
Theo frowned. “That can’t be right. They don’t just let anyone walk in off the street.”
George had no idea how to respond to that. He drank from the canteen again, then capped it and passed it back to Theo, saying nothing.
After a moment, Theo added, “I’m not asking for their names. I was just wondering how you went about it. It’s fine if you prefer not to talk about it.”
“I don’t mind talking about it,” George said. “But it’s true. I really didn’t have references.”
Theo’s frown deepened. “I don’t doubt your honesty,” he said at last, “But I also know how strict they are about this and?—”
“I had a letter of introduction,” George interrupted quietly.
“A letter of—What? From whom?”
“A letter of introduction,” George repeated. “From—well, actually it was from Mr. Redford himself.”
Theo stared at him, wide-eyed. George understood his reaction. To Theo’s ears this must sound like an absurd claim.
“But Kit Redford doesn’t even own the club anymore,” Theo said. “He retired last year. Sold the place lock, stock and barrel and left London apparently. No one even knows where he is now.”
“I know,” George said quietly. “He lives in Wiltshire.”
“Near your estate?” Theo asked, plainly astonished. George would have laughed at his reaction if he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of how private this information was.
“Actually,” he began hesitantly, “he lives on our estate. At Avesbury House”
Theo frowned harder. Slowly, he said, “Kit Redford lives with you?”
George took a deep breath. “He lives… with my father. They are—” He broke off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“Your father,” Theo echoed. “So, your father and Kit Redford are…”
“Yes,” George said. “Yes, they’re”—he couldn't bring himself to say lovers—“together. In the—well, in the romantic sense.” Christ, he was babbling now.
Theo just stared at him, flabbergasted.
“Kit came to live at the estate last year,” George added after a while. He cleared his throat, adding with forced brightness. “Do you know him? He’s very nice. Everyone likes Kit.”
“Not really,” Theo said slowly. “I met him briefly when I first joined Redford’s but I don’t think I spoke to him again after my first visit.” His brow furrowed. “Does this mean—does your father know about you?”
“That I’m like him and Kit?”
