seemed to see Will as the same person he had always been, the person he had grown up with, but to whom bad things had happened. Will had learned that often when a person learned about his past—the debacle on board the Fotheringay having been the subject of countless newspaper pieces, as it wasn’t every day a near mutiny occurred near enough to English shores for the actual court martial to take place in Portsmouth—they started to treat him as too broken to be taken seriously.
He took another bite of the bun, then washed it down with a mouthful of hot tea. He realized this meant Martin must have made tea at some point after coming home, although Will couldn’t say he had noticed. What he did notice was that Martin looked better than he had in months. The walk had put color into his cheeks, and months of Mrs. Tanner’s cooking had put some meat on his bones.
“You look well,” Will said, before he could consider whether it was a good idea.
Martin paused a fraction of a second, his cup halfway to his mouth, then raised an eyebrow. “Naturally,” he said into his teacup.
“I mean that you look healthy.” And he really did, but he also looked—some tiresome part of Will’s mind would only supply the word handsome.
“Yes,” Martin said, suddenly serious. “About that. I ought to go to my aunt.”
“Oh.” Will didn’t bother to conceal his disappointment. He began breaking his bun into crumbs.
“I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” Martin went on. “You know Lindley Priory is being used as a charity school now,” he said, casually eliding over the fact that he had all but given away his ancestral home for a nominal rent. “The terms of the lease don’t include the dower house, though. I could live there, I suppose.”
“You shouldn’t go there,” Will said. Martin had spent his childhood as all but a prisoner within the walls of Lindley Priory. It was in Cumberland, only a short walk from where Will and his brothers had grown up, but infinitely more stifling and dreary.
“And you shouldn’t tear up that bun if you’re not going to eat it. Look,” Martin said after Will had dutifully stopped mauling the bun, “I’m thin on options. I can’t stay here forever, and I—well, frankly, I’m going to have to beg my aunt for help.”
Will wanted to argue, to say that Martin could always have a home with him, but that wasn’t helpful or even true. Will didn’t know if the play would sell or whether he’d have anything to live on in a few weeks. It was only because of his arrangement with Mrs. Tanner that he had been able to stretch his meager funds this far. On days like this, he didn’t even know whether he’d be in his right mind for much longer. Besides, it was good that Martin was thinking to the future: only a few months ago he seemed content to waste away.
“This is your property, you know,” Will pointed out instead.
Something odd flickered across Martin’s face—embarrassment or maybe shame. “I can’t stay here alone. I can’t fend for myself the way you do.”
“I could—”
Martin shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. Not right now, at least. Now,” he said, dusting the crumbs from his hands, “I think it’s my turn to read aloud.”
They settled into the rhythm they did most evenings, one of them reading while the other toasted bread at the fire or brewed tea. Sometimes they played a few hands of cards using a deck that Will found in the loft. Will realized he had taken that routine for granted, and that when it came to an end he would miss it. He didn’t like to think of what might happen afterward. He didn’t, if he were honest with himself, want to go back to London. He didn’t want to go back to a shabby set of rooms, to shapeless days stretched out before him. Here, there was always something that needed to be done, if he felt like being busy, but he could sit idle if he had a day like today. And he liked seeing Martin every day. For years their friendship had been confined to letters and occasional meetings; seeing him daily, sharing a home with him, made something glad and grateful rise up inside Will.
“Will!” Martin called, and Will felt a chunk of Bath bun hit the side of his head. He grinned up to