Oh, perhaps some of it was true, but not the words he’d just read. He might have believed them once, but he knew now that Theo didn’t despise him and had never done so. And if those words were not true, or even if Ollie was just honestly mistaken, what else might he have got wrong?
Was it possible that George was not as unlikeable as he’d always believed?
His gaze snagged on the final words of the letter Ollie had written, saying he wanted to see George. All George could feel at the prospect of such a visit was dread. He didn’t want to listen to Ollie pouring poison in his ear any more. He’d spent the last few weeks with someone who actually enjoyed his company, and it had felt powerfully good.
He didn’t want to go back to feeling the way he used to. Unlikeable, and useless, and hopeless.
The threatening prickle of tears made George shake his head. He tossed Ollie’s letter aside and reached for the next one which was in his father’s handwriting.
Breaking the seal, he opened it up, frowning at the uncharacteristic brevity of the lines.
“My dearest George,
This letter will be short, and I hope you will forgive me for coming straight to the point: Freddy is returned home. He has been injured and is asking for you.”
George’s heart kicked in his chest at this shocking news, and his hands began to shake as he read on.
“I am hoping you will receive this letter without delay and that you are in a position to make your way back to Wiltshire as soon as possible on receipt. I do not want to say too much about Freddy’s condition in this letter. For now, let me simply reassure you that he is expected to recover more or less entirely, but his injuries are not trivial, and his military career may be over. He does not appear to wish to discuss the matter. Not with me, at any rate. Perhaps he will broach the subject with you. You two always did confide in one another. Your closeness is something I have always been grateful for.
Please come as soon as you can, George. If you cannot come immediately, pray write to me at once and let me know your present situation and how long it may be before you arrive. I await your early response.
Your loving father.”
“Oh God,” George breathed aloud, staring down at the letter. He could practically see his father’s anxiety in the hastily scrawled words.
His mind began to race, picturing Freddy in a dozen different wretched states. Why had his father said so little about his injuries? What had happened to Freddy? Whatever it was, it was bad enough that leaving the cavalry was on the cards.
What did that mean? His father had said that Freddy would recover, but no one had expected their youngest sister Alice to die when she fell ill. It had happened, though. Things like that happened all the time.
He had to go back home. Right now.
Standing abruptly, he crossed the bedchamber to the sideboard and began hauling his clothing from the drawers, throwing everything onto the bed. Then he stopped, realising that, to get home as quickly as possible, he’d be best riding back to Wiltshire the way he’d come. Damn it, he’d need to make arrangements for the rest of his things to be sent back.
His mind began to race. How far could he ride today before dark? What coaching inn should he head for? He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time and found himself gazing unseeingly at its face as his mind turned over a dozen possibilities.
He found himself wishing that Theo was here. Theo, who, on their journey here, had always been so calm when things went awry. Who always seemed to know what to do.
Theo who had gone to Balmouth for the day and would not be back for hours—and who, in all likelihood, would not be entirely devastated to see the back of George. He probably hadn’t actually wanted the help that George had been pressing upon him all these weeks, with his lists of works, notes on costs, and suggestions as to the best way to tackle the outstanding maintenance. And really, who could blame Theo for preferring the swift solution of a sale, and freedom, over the grinding responsibility of being tied to Blackfriars for years on end with empty pockets, and nothing but work and worry ahead of him?
George scrubbed his hands over his face, forcing himself to slow his thinking. He needed to focus his mind on Freddy, and getting back to Wiltshire.
Right. One thing at time. First he would pack and plan his route, then he’d write a farewell note for Theo, speak with Mrs. Ford and get on his way. If he left before noon, he should be able to get a good number of miles under his belt before stopping for the night. And if he managed anywhere close to the same pace that Theo had set on their way to Wales, he might arrive home as soon as Saturday.
That thought decided the matter in his mind. He would aim for Saturday, pressing as hard as he could each day.
With any luck, the punishing pace would drive all thoughts of Theo Caldwell from his mind.
31
THEO
Albert Prentice lived in a large, well-staffed house in Balmouth. The front door was answered by an older woman, the housekeeper Theo presumed. She ushered Theo and Norris into a large, well-appointed room to wait for the master of the house. Books lined the walls, and several large, comfortable-looking armchairs were grouped around the fireplace.
Prentice did not keep them waiting long. He entered the room, smiling broadly, a short, spry man, his grey hair heavily pomaded.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, his strong Welsh accent something of a surprise. “I’m glad you could come, Mr. Caldwell. And Norris, good to see you. Sit, sit!” He urged them into armchairs. “Effie will be through with some tea in a bit. Unless you’d prefer something stronger? I have some fine French brandy, if you’d like?”
“Tea will be perfect, thank you,” Theo said, and Prentice nodded approvingly.
