Suddenly, he found himself wishing he’d never shared that memory with Ollie.
Perhaps Ollie saw something of his thoughts. All at once, his expression changed, his brows drawing together. “Come now, George,” he said, his tone cajoling. “Don’t huff. You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Nudging George with his elbow, he added, “You oughtn’t to be so sensitive. I was only funning.”
George resisted the urge to apologise. “I’m fine,” he lied. “Anyway, aren’t you going to introduce me to your bride-to-be?”
Ollie gave a half-smile. “I suppose I ought. Come on.” He set off across the drawing room, leaving George to follow in his wake, coming to a halt on the other side of the drawing room, in front of two ladies who were sitting together. One of them was a notable beauty, with rich golden hair and strikingly dark blue eyes, though her pink gown was rather bright and fussy. The other lady was younger and no match for her companion in beauty. She was dressed more tastefully, though, in a shimmering silver-and-white evening gown, and her grey eyes were intelligent. This, George deduced, was Miss Cecily Hewitt.
Ollie addressed the beauty first. "Mrs. Hewitt,” he said smoothly, gesturing at George. “May I introduce my friend, Lord Sherrington, heir to the Duke of Avesbury?”
George bent over Mrs. Hewitt’s hand. She must be Miss Hewitt’s stepmother, since this woman could not be above thirty.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he murmured as he straightened. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Mrs. Hewitt flushed nearly as pink as her dress and mumbled something that George couldn’t quite make out. Despite her beauty, she appeared very shy.
“And this is Miss Cecily Hewitt,” Ollie continued, gesturing at the younger woman. “My betrothed.”
“Miss Hewitt,” George murmured, bowing in her direction. “It is an honour.”
Miss Hewitt’s smile was demure. “The honour is all mine, my lord.”
George inclined his head, then turned back to Mrs. Hewitt. “You have a lovely home, ma’am.”
She managed a wavery smile at the compliment and a nod but made no comment in return.
Miss Hewitt appeared embarrassed by her stepmother’s silence. Brightly, she said, “I’m so glad you came this evening, my lord. Fletcher speaks of you all the time!”
“Not all the time, my dear!” Ollie said repressively, his colour heightening. It did not suit him to blush, the pink clashing rather badly with his reddish-gold hair.
The girl flushed and bit her lip. “I only meant that I know you are great friends,” she said, her gaze begging Ollie’s approval.
In that moment, George felt a strange sort of comradeship with her. He was trying to think of something to say to lighten the moment when Ollie suddenly glared, his attention captured by something behind George. “What on earth is he doing here?”
George glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw who stood in the doorway, his heart began to slug in his chest.
Theo Caldwell.
The last time George had seen him was the day Theo had discovered George and Ollie kissing behind the stables at Dinsford Park. Theo’s obvious shock at the sight of them had been bad enough, but neither George nor Ollie had imagined he would actually tell anyone what he'd seen. Yet he’d done just that. When Ollie’s father had returned to the estate from town a few days later, he’d ambushed them in exactly the same place, apoplectic with rage. George had been sent home, and Ollie had received a vicious thrashing.
After that, everything had been different. Ollie himself most of all.
And now Theo had the gall to turn up at Ollie's wedding celebration? As though he wasn't the reason Ollie had been beaten so badly he’d been confined to his bed for days after?
George tried not to look at Theo Caldwell, but the man drew his gaze like a magnet. It had been a decade, but he didn’t look so very different from their school days. Older, yes. He was a man full grown now. But he still had that wide, infectious smile, and that mischievous glint in his eye.
The worst of it was, Theo had always been one of the nicer older boys at school. He’d teased George and was always telling him to be more manly and less fussy, but he wasn’t nasty about it. Just, well, exasperated. For a few years, George had been secretly quite infatuated with Theo. Which was probably why his betrayal had been so painful.
“Who is that?” Miss Hewitt asked Ollie.
“Theobald Caldwell,” Ollie said through gritted teeth. “Younger son of Sir Peter Caldwell. He’s my cousin Piers’s friend from school.”
“Your cousin who grew up with you?”
“Yes—Piers and Caldwell are two years older than Sherry and I,” Ollie said. “We were all four of us at St. Dominic’s.”
Miss Hewitt sighed. “You’re very fortunate. I used long for a brother or sister to play with when I was small.” She glanced at her stepmother, adding with a slightly forced smile, “Of course, I have the little ones now.” Mrs. Hewitt smiled politely.
“Piers was awfully good fun when we were boys,” Ollie said, a corner of his mouth hitching up, almost reluctantly. “Wasn’t he, Sherry?”
