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.
“In fact,” Aunt Bermondsey said, her attention firmly fixed on her newspaper, “if you think you might not return until tomorrow, dress in a way that passes as morning clothes. Don’t give me that look. I acquired my wealth of information the hard way, and now I’m passing it on to the next generation, which is very auntly of me, I should think.” She winked at him and he felt his face heat.
“It’s not—I don’t—”
“I shouldn’t make you squirm. I’m sorry, darling. My point is just that I really don’t care what you get up to. You’re only young once. And you needn’t worry what Lord Bermondsey thinks,” she added. “I’m not entirely certain he even knows you’re staying here.” Indeed, Martin had seen his aunt’s husband at the dinner table a mere handful of times, and was aware of him only as a vague, moustached presence. “He asked me only yesterday why there was a tall, spectacled man in our library, and it gave me quite a fright before I realized he meant you.”
Martin