“You should go to him,” Martin said with conviction. “Go now. The harvest’s in, and there’s nothing here that Morgan and I can’t manage for a while without you.”
Theo met Martin’s worried gaze. “If he has any sense, he’ll tell me to go to hell.”
Martin quirked a smile. “Try anyway. What’s the worst that could happen? You get a broken heart? You have one now, and if you don’t go at all, you will regret it all your life. I can promise you that.”
34
GEORGE
Ollie had promised, in his recent letter, that he would visit George in Wiltshire, but somehow George had put that detail out of his mind. Or perhaps it was rather that his mind had no remaining capacity to hold it, too caught up with what had happened at Blackfriars, and what Theo was thinking and doing now.
Consequently, when he returned from a long walk one morning to the news that Mr. Oliver Fletcher had arrived and was waiting to see him, George was more surprised than he probably ought to have been.
The footman had shown Ollie into the sitting room in the east wing. It was a room that got the morning sun and had been a great favourite of his mother’s. Her piano was in there, and George had fond memories of playing with his toys on the rug while she practised. As he made his way there on leaden feet, he found himself wishing that the butler had shown Ollie into some other room to wait.
When George entered, it was to find Ollie standing with his back to the door, gazing out at the extensive grounds. At the sound of George’s step, he wheeled around.
“George!” he exclaimed, and his smile was wide and genuine-seeming. “God, it’s good to see you!” He took several steps towards George, then came to an uncertain halt.
“Hello, Fletch,” George said, a little awkwardly. It had not escaped his notice that Ollie had reverted to using his first name, but even though he privately thought of him as Ollie, he could not quite bring himself to reciprocate. “What brings you to Wiltshire?”
Ollie frowned, but it was an amused frown, rather than an angry one. The fond, exasperated frown you direct at a friend who’s being rather dense. “You do, you dolt! Didn’t you get my letter?”
“I did get it,” George said. “I just thought you might wait for an invitation before you came.”
The fond exasperation melted away, leaving Ollie looking uncertain. “I—well, I rather thought, since we’ve been friends for so long, that I had an open invitation.” He paused, then added in a faintly injured tone, “I’m sorry if I presumed too much.”
Two things occurred to George in that moment. The first was that he’d just been given a very familiar cue—his role now was to rush to reassure Ollie. The second was that he wasn’t in the mood for that particular game. Instead, he said slowly, “Is that what we are? Friends?”
Ollie blinked, plainly surprised by George’s cool reaction. “Of course we’re friends!” he exclaimed. “You’re my dearest friend in the world!”
“Am I?”
“Yes!” Ollie eyed him with something that looked like disbelief; then he heaved a put-upon sigh. “Are you still in a snit over the wedding? I thought, when I called at your house the day after, that you seemed peevish, but I presumed you’d have got over it by now. It’s been months.”
Peevish? George pressed his lips together, annoyed. “I was never in a snit, Ollie,” he said coolly. “I was upset that you’d been avoiding me for months. I naturally assumed our friendship was over and?—”
“That’s absurd!” Ollie interrupted hotly, only to close his eyes and visibly try to bring himself under control. “George, please,” he tried again, his tone wheedling. “That was just a stupid misunderstanding. I’m sorry that’s how you interpreted my actions, but it was not what I intended.”
George stared at him, saying nothing.
“Perhaps I was a little too single-minded about courting Cecily,” Ollie went on. “And perhaps I inadvertently said some hurtful things. But you know how badly my family needed money. And it was terribly distracting for me, having you around. How could I concentrate on finding a bride when you were always there?”
George tried to ignore the pointless wave of resentment that washed over him. “Why are you here, Ollie? What exactly is it that you want?”
“I want my friend back,” Ollie said. “I’ve missed your company.” He sent George a pleading look. “Haven’t you missed mine? We used to spend so much time together.”
“We did, but you have a wife now,” George replied. “And I really don’t think she’d want you to go back to spending so much time with me.”
“What Cecily wants is neither here nor there.”
“How can you say that? She’s your wife.”
Ollie gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. Cecily doesn’t need you to champion her. She’s getting what she wants from this marriage, same as all the other Hewitts. But I mean to get what I want too.”
“And what’s that?”
Lightly, Ollie said, “Only my due, George. The life of a gentleman. I don’t ask for much: a decent wardrobe, a reasonable stable, enough funds to play a few hands of cards in my club. My own friends and interests. And now that I have a decent quarterly allowance, I can afford those things.” He offered George a grin. “Wait till you see my new racing curricle and matched bays. They’re in your stable—I’ll show you them later.”
