Page 41 of Two Rogues Make a Right
Will sighed and got to his feet. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Which one? Getting your heart broken or going to an opium den.”
“The opium den.” Every time Will left the Fox, some old and unsettled part of his brain reminded him how close he was to his old haunts, but he wasn’t going to visit one, even though not doing so required more of an effort than he might have preferred.
“Just—tell me if you’re going to, though. That way I’m not imagining you dead.”
Will was ready to protest that he was fine and Hartley’s concerns were unnecessary, but Hartley had every right to be worried, he supposed. The thing about losing one’s mind once was that everybody expected it to happen again. He sighed. “All right. I promise.”
Hartley ran a finger along the glossy wood of the bar top, then took a rag out of his pocket to polish away a probably imaginary blot. It was early, and the Fox was still empty. “I thought for certain Martin would be loitering around here all hours of the night and day.”
“I had hoped he would,” Will admitted, turning his attention to fixing a wobbly chair leg. “We parted under less than ideal terms in Sussex, and even worse the other day.”
“I gathered as much.”
“He means to marry. He says it’s the only way he can be sure to have a roof over his head and food in his belly. His other option, I suppose, would be to rely on me, and while I’d be more than happy to let him, it’s not like I have much to offer.”
“It sounds like you support his decision to marry,” Hartley said. He spoke in the measured tones of a man trying his best to bite his tongue.
“I don’t like it. But I want the best for him. I can’t be with him if he’s married, though.”
“Why not?” Hartley looked up from the tap he was polishing.
“It’s dishonest.”
Hartley tapped his finger. “It’s not ideal. But I’m not certain it’s dishonest either. He wouldn’t be making a love match. It wouldn’t be unusual for both parties to have liaisons. Unless you were tremendously indiscreet, his wife would have no cause to be jealous. You’d be her husband’s friend, not a rival.”
“I doubt you’d be advising me the same if I were a woman.”
“I’m not certain either, but that may be because a husband’s spending time with a woman is more obviously an affair, while a man’s spending time with another man is unremarkable. The lady’s feelings wouldn’t have to be hurt. She’d probably consider herself fortunate to have so faithful a husband.”
Will got to his feet and sat on the edge of the table. “You’ve thought about this.”
“Martin Easterbrook isn’t my favorite person, but I want you to be happy. But, Will, surely you knew going into things with Martin that he’d eventually have to marry.”
Will didn’t know how to explain to his brother that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I just wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with me, and we’re already—God, Hartley, I don’t need to explain to you how he and I are, because you already know. We’re important to one another.”
Hartley frowned at him. “I know. That’s why I said what I said. There was a time when Sam and I were being stupid about things. Mostly me, if I’m honest. And sometimes I think about how easy it would have been to let things go wrong.” He gave Will a faint smile. “If you and Martin can figure out a way to be happy together, I think you ought to do it. I think that his getting married is a small consideration.”
“How would you feel if Sam got married?”
“Horrible, obviously. But Sam doesn’t have consumption. And he has a trade. He doesn’t need to marry. But if he came to me tomorrow and said he needed to, I know we’d see our way through, because the alternative is too grim to think about.”
“My plan was to go back to how things were with him. We were only lovers for a short time, but we were friends for so long before that.” He refused to think about how even friendship would be strained with a man who was ensconced in a world of silver tea pots and velvet draperies.
Hartley gave him a look that plainly said he thought Will was full of shit, and went back to polishing the bar.
Chapter Seventeen
When a letter arrived from Will that was unprecedentedly riddled with words that had been crossed out, and perilously close to the sort of declaration that could land one or both of them in the pillory, Martin decided enough was enough. For the first time ever, he threw one of Will’s letters onto the fire instead of placing it with the rest of his collection. His plan to let time and distance restore their friendship to its earlier state had clearly been a failure. He needed to see Will in person.
He couldn’t quite work up the nerve to call on Will at the Fox, partly because he knew Hartley wouldn’t particularly want him there, and partly because he thought they ought to meet somewhere very public. So he wrote Will a short letter requesting that they meet the following day at a particular bench in Hyde Park.
“I’m going to see a friend this afternoon,” he announced to his aunt at the breakfast table.
“You say that as if you expect me to bar the doors,” she said, looking up from her newspaper. “Go call on your friend. Call on ten friends.”
He had rather thought she would insist that he accompany her on her usual round of morning visits. “Nothing of the sort,” he said, feigning confidence.
