“How did you sleep?” Theo asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
“Not well,” Martin admitted. “I have much on my mind.”
Theo frowned. “You mustn’t worry about the future. It won’t help you get better.”
Martin sighed. “With the greatest respect, you do not understand my position. I was born into very poor circumstances. I know what happens to the ill and the destitute.”
“That’s as may be, but you're not destitute,” Theo said firmly, gently steering him into the dining room and towards the nearest chair at the head of the table. “And you never will be. You have savings, and even if you did not, you have friends. I, for one, will not abandon you, I promise you that.”
Martin blinked and looked away, his throat working with emotion. Tactfully, Theo did not try to meet his gaze but concentrated on getting him situated, bracing the man’s weight as he helped him slowly ease down into one of the dining chairs.
He had just released Martin’s arms and was straightening when someone else entered the room.
George.
Theo’s mouth went dry. He did not look like a duke today, in his working clothes and with his too-long hair made unruly by the breeze. He looked young and very handsome. And a little wary.
“Good morning,” George said politely, including both men in his greeting, though his gaze slid away from Theo’s when Theo tried to catch his eye.
“Good morning, Mr. Asquith,” Martin said, shifting his position in the chair with a faint grunt of pain. “How fares my farm today?”
“Admirably,” George replied, his stiff smile transforming into something a mite more natural. “Morgan has the labourers working on your east field today. They’re making good progress—we reckon two more days will do it, if the weather holds. Then Morgan’ll get them started on his place.”
“That's good,” Martin replied, visibly cheered by this news. “Morgan’s generous to have set them to work on my fields before doing his own.”
“He’s a good neighbour,” George agreed, sliding into the chair to the left of Martin, opposite Theo. “I’ll go back there this afternoon to give him a break.”
“You’re a good man too, Mr. Asquith,” Martin said, his eyes glimmering suddenly with unshed tears. “You and Mr. Caldwell both.”
Thankfully, Tom entered the dining room before Martin's eyes could start leaking again. He carried a tray containing a huge pot of tea, a basket of bread and all manner of butter and conserves.
As soon as he set the tray down, Theo took hold of the teapot and began pouring tea for all of them.
“How is your leg today?” George asked Martin. “You mentioned it was painful yesterday.”
“Still is.” Martin sighed. “I’ve got shooting pains in both legs. My head too.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” George said, frowning. “Perhaps Mrs. Ford has some laudanum, or another pain cure?”
Martin began to tell him about the powders Mrs. Ford had been giving him, and their efficacy, while Theo looked on. He tried to listen, but his attention kept drifting to George. Just looking at him made Theo’s heart beat faster and his chest ache. He wished they were alone. He wanted to talk to George about last night, even as the thought of talking about it filled him with dread.
It was almost a relief when Mrs. Ford entered the dining room in a flurry of skirts and her flour-dusted apron. She set down several platters, then lifted Martin’s plate and served out a portion for him, ignoring his faint protests. He always complained she gave him too much, but since he generally ate what she served, it seemed she had a better idea than he did of what he could manage.
“Evan Hughes just arrived with the post,” she announced as she picked up her empty tray and made for the door. “I’ll send Tom through with it.”
Once she’d gone, Martin sighed and lifted his cutlery, applying himself clumsily to his breakfast. George, too, gave his attention to his plate, and when Theo made a polite comment about the weather, he only grunted in acknowledgement.
Finally, Tom arrived with the post. He set one letter down beside Theo—a thin one with neat, formal script, probably another bloody bill—and several more at George’s left hand.
“Thank you, Tom,” George said politely, his brows drawing together in a faint frown when he glanced down at the topmost letter. He made no move to open it, though, seeming content to finish his breakfast first.
Theo continued to watch George while they ate their meal, more or less in silence. He could not help but feel a little aggravated by how immune George appeared to be to his attention, never even glancing Theo’s way.
Finally, George finished eating, pushed his plate aside, and set his napkin on the table. Only then did he pick up the first of his letters, breaking the seal and opening out the folded paper before scanning the lines inside, his expression unreadable.
Theo was so focused on George that it took him a moment to notice that Martin was getting up from the table, his movements unsteady. It was, in fact, George who reacted first, casting his letter to one side as he hurriedly got to his feet and reached out towards Martin. “Are you all right?”
Martin stumbled a little, bracing his hand on the edge of the table to steady himself as he fumbled for his cane.
