24
GEORGE
After Theo left the dining room, George sat on at the table for several minutes, staring at the detritus of their meal. At the half-eaten ginger pudding that he’d lost all appetite for, and the jug of custard that was, even now, developing an unappetising skin.
At length, the door opened, and Tom poked his head through.
“May I clear the table, Mr. Abbott?”
“Yes, of course,” George said. “It’s time I retired anyway. Mr. Caldwell’s already gone to bed.”
Fetching a candle to see his way to his bedchamber, George left the boy to his work and padded upstairs. He moved quietly, listening carefully for any noise from Theo’s bedchamber. There were a few creaks and other sounds. Theo moving around, George thought. He hoped Theo was all right. He’d been worried by the look on Theo’s face after he'd pushed and pushed at him, demanding to know why he was so determined not to believe George’s theory.
He regretted his behaviour now. It was unlike him to be so relentlessly challenging. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, why it had mattered to him so much.
Once inside his bedchamber, he found himself looking around with new eyes. Martin had slept here for years and years. Yet there was no sign of his long occupation, and that struck George as rather sad.
Suddenly weary, he bent to remove his boots, then took off his coat and waistcoat and trousers, hanging them in the narrow wardrobe before pulling off his stockings and cravat and setting them aside too. His shirt gaped at the neck as he sat down on the end of the bed with a heavy sigh. He wasn’t sure why he felt so low. It wasn’t as though he and Theo had really argued, but the conversation had certainly gone awry. Theo had been upset when he left the dining room, and George felt guilty for pushing him.
He’d always thought of Theo Caldwell as endlessly confident, endlessly certain about everything. But that wasn’t how he’d looked tonight.
Slowly, George stood and padded over to the basin on the sideboard. He yanked off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his drawers. Then, pouring water into the basin, he took a cloth and began to wash up, scrubbing under his arms and round the back of his neck.
That was when he heard the scraping sound of a key in a lock.
He froze, eyes going wide when the connecting door a few feet away began to open with a yawning sort of creak.
And then Theo was there, standing in the doorframe.
Theo’s gaze flew to George, and George was suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. The only item he wore, his drawers, were fine lawn, and somewhat transparent. By contrast, Theo wore a banyan over his drawers, though it was untied, revealing tantalising glimpses of his strong body.
“I’m so sorry!” Theo said hurriedly. “I thought you were still downstairs. Even so, I shouldn’t have?—”
“You found the key!” George interrupted, astounded. “Where was it?”
Theo blinked, briefly discombobulated. “In a sideboard drawer in my room—my uncle’s room, I mean.”
“Well,” George said, walking towards him. “There you go.”
Theo frowned. “Sorry?”
“Don’t you see? I was right. Your uncle was clearly able to visit this room discreetly whenever he wished.”
“That doesn’t mean that he did visit. We don’t know, George.”
“We don’t,” George conceded “but it strikes me as a reasonable inference from everything we do know.”
Theo looked so troubled that George almost felt sorry about this discovery. Reaching out, he set a hand on Theo’s forearm. “It might help if you think of it this way—it would mean that your uncle was not alone. That he shared his life with another. Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
Theo met his gaze. “That would be a good thing,” he admitted at last. “But the part that bothers me is that it would also mean that, when I inherited Blackfriars, Robert Martin wasn’t just put out of his work quarters. He was put out of his home.”
Oh.
Abruptly, George felt foolish and guilty. That hadn’t occurred to him—but it had occurred to Theo.
“And that’s the part I don't understand,” Theo went on, frowning. “If they were together, why did my uncle leave this place to me? What an idiotic thing to do! Trusting a feckless nephew he hadn’t met since he was a schoolboy to do right by his tenants? By his own lover?” A muscle worked in his cheek. “Well, he picked the wrong man, didn’t he? I’d already wasted my inheritance from my grandmother before he was cold in the ground.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Hell, I’d spent the rent money that was waiting for me on my return to England before I even bothered to open the letter that Martin had sent me, explaining what repairs were needed.”
“Oh,” George said. “Oh, no, Theo.”
