Owen shook his head, admiring the light from the flames glinting on the gold watch. “You saved both of our lives.”
Tom dropped his gaze to the fire before them, a furrow appearing between his brows.
“Not a day goes by that I am not grateful for your sacrifices,” Owen said gently. “Kentworth mentioned you often after you went home. Until he grew sick, he consistently reminded me to be grateful for my second chance in life.” Owen rubbed a thumb absently over the brass embossed casing. He pulled out a sealed letter and passed it over. “He asked me to personally deliver this, and if I am not mistaken, I am certain he wanted you to have the watch as well.”
Tom stared at the letter.
“I can open it for you if?—”
“No.” Tom took it, clearing the emotion from his throat. “It’s only strange receiving a letter from the dead.”
Owen nodded. He sat back, waiting for his friend to read through the missive. When Kentworth contracted the ague, he didn’t have long. Unlike some of the other men they knew, it had taken him swiftly, and with his passing and Tom’s departure a year before from the injuries sustained while pushing both of them out of the way when a building was blown to pieces, Owen found himself alone.
He would quite literally not be alive if it were not for those men.
Tom folded the letter and placed it on the table, lifting his tankard and taking a long pull of his drink. “He only wanted to give his thanks again. If you express more gratitude, I’ll be glad to see the back of you. It’s in the past now, Buckley.”
Owen swallowed his words. “You understand why we feel?—”
“The past.”
Silence settled around them but for the popping and crackling of the fire. “Then I’d best be on my way. But before I go, can I ask for some advice?”
“If I have any to give,” Tom said.
“My school…I’m hoping to find a location shortly.”
Tom sat up further, pushing himself from the seat and readjusting his foot on the stool. “You mean to start it? The charity school?”
“Now that I’ve inherited my uncle’s money, I have the funds to begin. I wrote to Hamm about investing, and he is interested so long as he only has to contribute funds and not time. My new bailiff is working on estate options close to Buckley Place in Derbyshire.”
“It is a good thing you’re doing.” He squeezed the pocket watch and looked down at it. “Giving lads an education who can’t afford it. Giving them the option of staying out of the army if they choose.”
Owen’s heart raced. “I want you to come on and help.”
“Help how?”
“Administration, mostly. You’ve a good head for numbers, and I’ll need a sound mind to manage the student applications. It will be difficult work selecting boys. They’ll all be worthy, but we won’t have room for everyone, so I need a man I can trust to make the call. You’d manage the staff and teachers, as well as oversee hiring and all of the servants.” Owen paused, inhaling and steadying his shaky hands. “It is a large role, Tom. Essentially, I am asking you to run the school.”
His mouth remained a thin line, nothing about his expression giving him away. “Where would you be?”
“Around. I would oversee everything as a whole, and while I hope the school is near Buckley Place, I would not wish to leave the estate while my aunt is in this fragile state. So I cannot reside within the facility. You would be the senior officer living on the premises. It would require relocation. A few of the properties we’ve looked at have cottages nearby, dower houses or the like that we can renovate for your use entirely, but I could not guarantee it. If the best option is an estate without something ofthat kind, then you would only be granted rooms within a separate area of the house—rooms for you and both of your sons, of course, if they should wish for employment as well.”
Tom’s attention drifted to the wall. “Are you offering me charity, Owen?”
The use of his given name was enough to shock Owen into sitting up. He’d never heard it on Tom’s tongue. “No. You are the man I want at my side in this endeavor. There is no one else in England I trust more.”
Silence sat thickly in the room, muffled only by the whoosh of Owen’s pulse in his ears. He watched emotions flick over Tom’s face, one after the other, as he considered what Owen brought to him.
Finally, Tom let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I’ll scare the boys.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I scare my neighbors.”
“If it worries you, wear an eye patch.” Owen tilted his head, giving it consideration. “I imagine it will only give you notoriety. Consider the stories they will concoct.”
A low, rumbling laugh came from Tom’s belly, rising in volume and speed.
