without him showing his face to cause more comment. So now he stood in the drawing room once more, too restless to settle while he waited on tenterhooks for news.
“Sir?”
“What is it, man? Has something happened?” Never had
Standish’s polite reticence been less welcome.
“I thought you might wish to know that Daniel
Costessey’s wedding has not taken place. Apparently the younger Costessey returned and interrupted the proceedings.” “And the wedding? It didn’t happen?” Philip desperately needed to be absolutely sure of this one key point.
“Daniel Costessey is not married, sir. Toby Costessey has asked for the banns to be read for him and Effie.” Standish spoke with emphasis, and looked as though he worried it still hadn’t quite sunk in. As well he might. Philip had to hold himself back from asking for further repetition. “Shall I mix you a drink, sir?”
Philip laughed then, a high-pitched sound that hung between them somewhat embarrassingly. “Sorry,” he said, abashed. “I was just thinking champagne, but I don’t suppose….”
Standish coughed politely. “Brandy and soda, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you, Standish.” Philip sank back into his chair, feeling weak. When he took the drink Standish handed him, it was with both hands, because he feared the shaking of one alone might spill it. He downed it in a few short swallows, then set aside his glass with new resolve. “Standish? I’m going for a walk. I may be a little while.”
Standish merely nodded, and stood to one side as Philip passed.
T HE sun was all but set, shadows lengthening until they covered the land, by the time Danny returned to his cottage. Light streamed from the window, and his heart fluttered in his chest like a new-fledged sparrow. There was only one man who’d walk into Danny’s home like he owned the place, and that was the man who did, in fact, own the place. But what would Philip be doing here? He’d made it clear all was over between them.
As he neared the door, Danny’s steps grew ever slower until he cursed himself for a coward. If his heart were to be broken, best to make it a clean break; it wouldn’t hurt any the less for dragging things out. Gathering his courage, he flung open the door.
Philip rose from his chair. He looked wild, disheveled, and eerily beautiful in the firelight. “I heard,” was all he said.
Danny swallowed and nodded. “Aye. Seems I’m destined to stay a single man.” He turned to carefully shut and bolt the door. Whatever was to happen here, it was best there be no witnesses, he reckoned.
“Not—not single,” Philip said, as Danny turned back his way. “At least….” He ran a hand through his hair, giving Danny a fair inkling how he’d arrived at his present unkempt appearance. “I know you’re angry with me.”
Angry? Hurt, yes. But angry? Danny didn’t reckon he could manage that, not with Philip looking at him like a frightened deer caught in a trap. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“Yes… yes you are. I’m not asking you to understand, but I just—”
“Don’t.” Danny paced forward and then stopped. He couldn’t stand it any longer. “I don’t want to hear it. And I do understand, all right? He’s like you—educated. Cultured. A gentleman. I just—just don’t tell me about it. Please.”
“I—what? Who are you talking about?” Philip’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Matthew? Why would you think—there’s nothing between me and Matthew. There never has been.” But he flushed as he spoke, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
God, but it hurt to be lied to by Philip. “I saw you,” Danny choked out past the lump in his throat. “Out in the gardens. Him with his hands in yours, quoting poetry and the like.” He stared into the fire, unable to look Philip in the eye any more.
“Danny….” A hand gripped Danny’s arm. “It was nothing. At least….” Philip sighed. “Yes, he was flirting with me.
“Sir?”
“What is it, man? Has something happened?” Never had
Standish’s polite reticence been less welcome.
“I thought you might wish to know that Daniel
Costessey’s wedding has not taken place. Apparently the younger Costessey returned and interrupted the proceedings.” “And the wedding? It didn’t happen?” Philip desperately needed to be absolutely sure of this one key point.
“Daniel Costessey is not married, sir. Toby Costessey has asked for the banns to be read for him and Effie.” Standish spoke with emphasis, and looked as though he worried it still hadn’t quite sunk in. As well he might. Philip had to hold himself back from asking for further repetition. “Shall I mix you a drink, sir?”
Philip laughed then, a high-pitched sound that hung between them somewhat embarrassingly. “Sorry,” he said, abashed. “I was just thinking champagne, but I don’t suppose….”
Standish coughed politely. “Brandy and soda, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you, Standish.” Philip sank back into his chair, feeling weak. When he took the drink Standish handed him, it was with both hands, because he feared the shaking of one alone might spill it. He downed it in a few short swallows, then set aside his glass with new resolve. “Standish? I’m going for a walk. I may be a little while.”
Standish merely nodded, and stood to one side as Philip passed.
T HE sun was all but set, shadows lengthening until they covered the land, by the time Danny returned to his cottage. Light streamed from the window, and his heart fluttered in his chest like a new-fledged sparrow. There was only one man who’d walk into Danny’s home like he owned the place, and that was the man who did, in fact, own the place. But what would Philip be doing here? He’d made it clear all was over between them.
As he neared the door, Danny’s steps grew ever slower until he cursed himself for a coward. If his heart were to be broken, best to make it a clean break; it wouldn’t hurt any the less for dragging things out. Gathering his courage, he flung open the door.
Philip rose from his chair. He looked wild, disheveled, and eerily beautiful in the firelight. “I heard,” was all he said.
Danny swallowed and nodded. “Aye. Seems I’m destined to stay a single man.” He turned to carefully shut and bolt the door. Whatever was to happen here, it was best there be no witnesses, he reckoned.
“Not—not single,” Philip said, as Danny turned back his way. “At least….” He ran a hand through his hair, giving Danny a fair inkling how he’d arrived at his present unkempt appearance. “I know you’re angry with me.”
Angry? Hurt, yes. But angry? Danny didn’t reckon he could manage that, not with Philip looking at him like a frightened deer caught in a trap. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“Yes… yes you are. I’m not asking you to understand, but I just—”
“Don’t.” Danny paced forward and then stopped. He couldn’t stand it any longer. “I don’t want to hear it. And I do understand, all right? He’s like you—educated. Cultured. A gentleman. I just—just don’t tell me about it. Please.”
“I—what? Who are you talking about?” Philip’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Matthew? Why would you think—there’s nothing between me and Matthew. There never has been.” But he flushed as he spoke, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
God, but it hurt to be lied to by Philip. “I saw you,” Danny choked out past the lump in his throat. “Out in the gardens. Him with his hands in yours, quoting poetry and the like.” He stared into the fire, unable to look Philip in the eye any more.
“Danny….” A hand gripped Danny’s arm. “It was nothing. At least….” Philip sighed. “Yes, he was flirting with me.
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