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“Not to state the obvious,” Corvin remarked, “but I can’t help noticing you haven’t got the little Frisby into bed yet.”
“Thank you for your restraint. I should hate it if you stated the obvious,” Philip said, somewhat testily. “It would be so dull.”
“Temper, temper,” John said, puffing out smoke.
They were upstairs. Guy had retreated to his sister’s side after dinner, accompanied by David, Sheridan, and Harry, who were to give the woman nightmares by telling her all about historical horrors. George and Ned were absorbed in the new piece; the sound of piano and violin drifted up from below. Philip, John, and Corvin had gathered in the parlour-cum-studio upstairs, feeling—on Philip’s part at least—rather snubbed.
“I did my best,” Corvin added. “All but pushed you into his arms.”
“Have you considered he might not want Phil in his arms?” John enquired.
“Of course he does. Look at him, the poor boy is smitten.”
“Smitten, yes. Game for a tupping is another matter. We’re in the country.”
John loathed the countryside. He resented being stared at as though he were a raree-show, and had been known to respond uncharitably when people asked Philip or Corvin, “Does he speak English?” It was yet one more reason they brought their own staff and admitted no visitors. Philip had heard David out on the topic of Amanda Frisby’s need for entertainment but put his foot down about Yarlcote guests. She could have as much company from the assembled Murder as she wished and Guy allowed; he was not filling the house with gawpers at his friends’ cost.
“Country folk fuck,” Corvin said. “Well, they must; it’s not as if other entertainments present themselves. Plant things, dig things, knit things, fuck things. Make cheese.”
“Cheese?”
“They may do in general,” John said, before Philip could be dragged down this particular byway. “Fuck, I mean. But I bet you the plank doesn’t.”
“He’s not a plank,” Philip said. “There’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“I thought the whole point of this conversation was that anything more hasn’t met your eye.”
“Not yet, perhaps,” Corvin said. “Put some effort in, Phil, it’s a matter of time.”
“Achieving what?” John asked. “Serious, now. For one thing he’s a Frisby, for another he’s a neighbour and we talked about fouling your own nest. You don’t want to come back here and learn your labourers have downed tools because he’s spread word all over the county.”
“I don’t think he’d do that. And, since he walked in on me and Corvin in flagrante, that cat is well out of the bag anyway.”
“And for a third,” John went on without remorse, “what about him? Bloke’s a bag of nerves, doesn’t look like he knows what to do with his own prick, let alone yours. What are you going to do, give him a few lessons and then get in the carriage and drive away for another six months?”
“A few lessons might be what he needs,” Corvin said. “You normally argue for knowledge, rather than ignorance, John.”
“Yes, well, some people are quick learners, and some people spend the rest of their life blue-devilled and fearing damnation because they decide they committed a terrible sin and there’s nobody to tell them otherwise.”
Philip sighed. “I have thought of that, you know.”
“Then why not just leave him be?” John demanded. “Are you that bored?”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Corvin said. “Phil’s not bored, the very opposite. He’s interested.”
John twisted round to examine Philip. “Really? Nah.”
“He is.”
“No he isn’t. He’s never interested.”
“I am here, in this room,” Philip said. “Sitting next to you.”
Corvin ignored that. “Interested. What’s interesting about the plank, Phil?”
“He is not a plank. I don’t know. I think he has a good mind under the swaddling blankets of convention, and a depth of feeling. A delightful mouth, you must have noticed. And a great deal of courage.”
“Courage?” John said. “Bloke looks like a scared rabbit nine-tenths of the time.”
“But stands up for his sister despite being afraid,” Philip said. “And, I suspect, doesn’t have many friends around here, if any. As one would not, if his schooldays were anything like mine, and they were probably worse. The sins of the mothers visited upon the children. Is there something against Amanda Frisby’s name, Corvin?”
“Good Lord, how should I know? Why do you ask?”
“Something he said. I wonder— Well, anyway. Let’s say I have fellow feeling for him.”
“That doesn’t have to lead to feeling the fellow, though,” John said, making Corvin yelp with laughter.
Philip glared at them both. “You are no help. Either of you.”
“What assistance do you want, oh light of my life?” Corvin asked. “I did try to lead your horse to water.”
“That didn’t help in the slightest, and don’t do it again. John is right; I’m not going to cause trouble for someone who has quite enough on his plate as it is.”
“Not even if he wants you to?” Corvin gave him a sideways look. “You might be his only opportunity, you know.”
“I’m not a charitable institution for the relief of frustration,” Philip said. “And some people consider their moral principles more important than the call of their pricks, Corvin.”
“Moral principles,” John muttered. “Moral cowardice, more like.”
“For God’s sake, let him alone,” Philip snapped. “It’s all very well for us, isn’t it? It was certainly very well for me, with you two to show me the ropes and a title falling into my hands. I grew up armoured against all the things he fears, the stones the world throws at one, and he didn’t, so I’m not going to call him a coward for flinching. And nor, my friend, are you.”
John had his hands and his eyebrows raised high. “Fine. I hear you. I take it back.”
Corvin didn’t comment. He did, however, interlace his fingers behind his head and begin whistling. His musical skills did not match his appreciation of the art, and it took a moment for Philip to identify the tune as “Love Will Find Out the Way.”
He told Corvin to sod off. It didn’t relieve his feelings at all.
***
GUY WAS HIDING WITH his sister again the next morning. Philip found things to do in the study—this was not at all the same as lying in wait, despite John’s sarcastic comments on the subject—and caught his guest as he emerged into the corridor.
“Guy. Marvellous. I wondered if you might introduce me to your sister today. I feel entirely remiss in my duties as a host.”
That was, as intended, impossible to refuse. Guy begged a half-hour’s grace, manfully meeting Philip’s gaze as he did it, and alerted Miss Frisby to an impending visitor, and very soon Philip was once again in the sickroom with Amanda and Guy Frisby.
Miss Frisby awake proved to be a very vibrant individual. Like her brother, her features were by themselves no more than moderately pleasing to the eye; it was animation that made her attractive, and she was very animated indeed. She had darkish brown hair, simply dressed, sparkling brown eyes to Guy’s hazel, and a generously plump form of the sort that both John and Corvin liked, and she was scanning Philip with fascinated examination. He had a vague feeling she might take notes at any moment.
Guy made the introductions with an understandable stiffness. Philip bowed over her hand. “Miss Frisby. A belated welcome to Rookwood Hall, and please accept my sympathy for the circumstances of your visit.”
“Thank you. And I am terribly sorry for trespassing on your land, and now invading your house so. I dare say you may think I had my just deserts.”
She had her splinted leg attached to a block, which was in turn attached to two bricks hanging off the end of the bed. It looked excruciating. “On the contrary,” Philip said. “I can only apologise for whatever it was that caused your horse to throw you. I shall order the rabbit holes filled at once.”
“It was a squirrel. Bluebell was startled.”
“In that case, I shall have them all shot.”
Miss Frisby gurgled with laughter, to his satisfaction. “Please don’t. The poor squirrels, and poor Bluebell. I was so glad she wasn’t harmed. Quite seriously, Sir Philip, Guy told me not to overwhelm you with thanks, but I am very sorry, and very grateful for your hospitality, to me and to my brother. Dr. Martelo tells me we will be imposing on you for an absurd length of time, and I feel terribly awkward to spoil your party.”
“Parties can be repaired more easily than bones,” Philip said. “Don’t give it another thought. Speaking of the doctor, he has advised me at length, as is his wont, about the need to keep your spirits up in the face of whatever Gothic tortures he’s inflicting on you.” Amanda gave a startled yelp of laughter that sounded almost alarmed. Guy went instantly red. Philip scanned the sentence for indecency, couldn’t detect anything that would bring a blush to a reasonable cheek, and gave a mental shrug. “Is there anything I can provide—?”
“Oh, not at all!” Amanda said earnestly. “Mr. Street and Mr. Salcombe have been telling me the most wonderful things about rocks and—what’s the word?—fossilised things. Animals in stone, you know. It’s given me the most marvellous ideas for— That is, it’s wonderfully interesting. And Mr. Caulfield played the violin for me and explained how it works, and Dr. Martelo is telling me all about medicine, and Lisbon, and his travels, and really, breaking my leg has been the most fascinating time I’ve had in years.”
Philip threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Frisby, you may have hit on the answer for reluctant scholars.”
“If you’re suggesting we should break schoolboys’ legs to make them attend...” Guy said, then paused with a comical look of consideration that sent Amanda into a fit of gurgling and made Philip laugh again.
He stayed for half an hour, thoroughly enjoying himself, although aware of the maid’s disapproving presence in the corner. Amanda Frisby was a joy in herself, but it was her effect on Guy that Philip liked most. After his initial wary guard-dog hackles had flattened, he’d relaxed in her presence, joking and laughing, his changeable eyes bright with pleasure. That was delightful to watch, and Philip knew an urge to see if he could elicit the same unselfconscious enjoyment, but there was something else too, something that underlay every interaction of the pair.
Guy loved his sister. It was as simple and complex as that. Guy loved his sister overwhelmingly, and Amanda Frisby was bright and confident and happy in the way people were when they had never doubted in their hearts that they were loved. In the way, in fact, her older brother was not.
Guy had given her that certainty. Philip was sure of it, and the knowledge felt like a clenched fist in his chest.
He bowed out reluctantly after that half-hour, promising to visit again and to order her a selection of novels and periodicals. Guy stayed with her, but emerged for luncheon, and Philip caught him in the hallway after they’d eaten, and when he didn’t feel irritatingly aware of Corvin and John’s carefully neutral expressions.
“I am quite sure it’s time for your mandated fresh air,” he said. “David will have your hide otherwise.”
“I thought I’d go for a proper tramp,” Guy said. “Up to the Gallows Oak, perhaps.”
Philip had no idea what that was. “Perfect. I feel like stretching my legs myself. I shall join you.”
“It will probably be very stony.” Guy shot a look down at Philip’s Hessians, which were well polished and had rather pleasing tassels. “And thorny. And it’s a good four miles each way.”
“I detect a challenge,” Philip said. “Wait for me while I change.”
“Uh—”
“Even better, there’s John. Introduce him to Miss Frisby, would you? David has insisted she be kept amused and entertained.” He gave John an assessing look, then shrugged. “Needs must. I suppose you could talk about drawing.”
John responded in equally uncomplimentary fashion, but took Guy off to make the introductions. Philip changed, reflecting he’d managed that rather neatly, and set off with Guy in his second-best boots, feeling as close to a countryman as ever he did, which was not greatly.
It was a lovely day for a walk. The early summer sunshine was warm but not oppressive, there was a breeze, and the shady lanes of Yarlcote were shot with green and gold light.
“What is this Gallows Tree to which we head?” Philip asked after a few moments of nothing but birdsong and the scuff of feet. “It sounds rather gloomy for such a pleasant afternoon.”
“It’s just a tree on a hill. Very good for climbing, for children, and you get a wonderful view.”
“And the name?”
“We used to hang people from it, or so they say, but that was stopped years ago.”
“I am relieved. Any particular reason?”
“Well, it’s hardly proper legal procedure. Oh, you mean, what were they hanged for? Terrible bloody murders and highway robbery, that sort of thing. Or at least, that’s what I think, but you know how children invent things to scare one another. I told Amanda any number of ghastly tales. We used to sit in the branches with apples and a hunk of bread and I’d make up stories for her, until she was old enough to make up stories for me. Hers were far worse. She gave me nightmares once. I woke up screaming and babbling about Rawhead and Bloody Bones, and Nurse wanted to know where I’d heard such a thing, and I was too embarrassed to say my eight-year-old sister had scared the daylights out of me. She has always had the most lurid imagination.” His lips were curved in a smile that Philip would bet he didn’t realise he was wearing.
“Miss Frisby is a remarkable young lady,” Philip observed. “She’s better company with a broken leg than most people in full health.”
“Thank you,” Guy said. “She is, isn’t she? I—well, she’s the best sister a man could ask for. I’m awfully proud of her.”
“I can see why. She has a lively mind, intellectual curiosity, a great deal of charm, and courage on top of all. She reminds me very much of you.”
Guy’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“I said—”
“I heard. I mean— Why does she remind me of you? I mean, you of me?”
Philip counted on his fingers. “Lively mind, intellect, charm, courage. I think that was all.”
Guy shook his head. “That’s not like me.”
“It’s very like you. The difference is, I suspect, that Miss Frisby grew up with an older brother to cherish and protect her from the world’s blows, and you did not. It makes a great difference when one is shielded from these things, as I know; it made all the difference in the world when I came to live with Corvin. I don’t know how it is to be the one doing the shielding: I never had to do that. But I do know that it wears one down when one’s life is at the mercy of people who ignore their responsibilities.”
He was guessing; Guy’s long silence told him he’d guessed right. Philip glanced over, saw the man had his face averted, and looked away. If they were really going to walk eight miles in total to see a tree, he had time.
“It does rather,” Guy said at last, sounding stifled. “I don’t know why we’re talking about me. There are surely more interesting subjects.”
“You interest me.”
“It’s kind of you to say so. I didn’t really expect a Rookwood to be kind—uh—”
“Quite. No, don’t apologise, there’s really no need.”
“I am sorry, though,” Guy said. “The accidental remarks are almost as bad as the deliberate ones. I had a friend at school who would say things like, ‘Does your mother know you’re out?’—just jokes, you know, but he’d look at me and apologise every time, and it rubs rather.”
“We were in a gambling hell of the worst sort once,” Philip said reminiscently. “A filthy hole, full of sharps. There was a fellow there with a gentleman’s birth and upbringing, if not manners. He swore continually, and every time he called someone a bastard he looked over at me, winked, and said, ‘No offence.’ He did it perhaps four times. On the fifth occasion, Corvin leaned forward, said, ‘No offence to you either,’ and threw a full glass of gin in his face.”
Guy gaped. “Was that when—you know?”
“Good God, no, it wasn’t a killing matter. He leapt up to take Corvin by the throat, reasonably enough, so John punched him in the head, which brought the conversation to an end, and the doormen dragged him out by the heels.”
“Oh. That’s, uh...”
Philip grinned. “I can’t have shocked you. We are the Murder, after all.”
“Yes, but I’d rather got used to the idea that you and your friends aren’t the disreputable set everyone says.”
“Oh, I think we’re disreputable by most standards. I don’t think we’re wicked, but public opinion doesn’t pay much attention to that.”
“It’s unfair.”
“Not in our case. We’ve cultivated public perception like a rare orchid.”
“I don’t understand why,” Guy said. “That is, I suppose I understand that you don’t care to win good opinions, but why would you deliberately court bad ones?”
“Well, Corvin enjoys the attention, and it’s been of immense professional help to John. It’s something of a dogfight for anyone to succeed in his line of work. His dubious aristocratic connections and the whiff of brimstone gave him an edge, which his talent for excoriating humour turned into a blade. As for me, I find Society’s cold shoulder saves a great deal of time. It keeps matchmakers at a distance, and I prefer to socialise with people who are either like-minded or open-minded.”
“I’m not sure I’m either of those things.”
“You saw me with Corvin, and didn’t run to the nearest magistrate to demand the full force of the law.”
“I might have done, though. Shouldn’t you be more careful?”
“I am,” Philip said. “I don’t let judgemental, narrow-souled, ignorant people over my threshold. And if I had found myself afflicted with one in your person, I assure you I’d have...” He considered. “Probably locked the door.”
Guy made a strangled noise. “You could be arrested! Does that not bother you?”
“In terms of the risk and inconvenience, yes. As a point of moral principle, no. I see no crime in doing as I please with my own body. If it was good enough for the Greeks, the Romans, and the Spartans, it’s good enough for me.”
Guy opened his mouth, stopped, and held up a finger, asking for thinking time. Philip let him think, strolling on down the lane. They’d emerged from the shade and the sun was bright, the gentle rise of the landscape around them very green. Philip had travelled the far more dramatic landscapes of Europe: mountains, valleys, forests, and foaming rivers, operatic in their beauty. England felt more like a long, slow breath.
“I see what you mean,” Guy said at last. “That is—I suppose you don’t want to argue about how the New Testament has replaced the teachings of the ancients.”
“I’m game if you are,” Philip lied. “But I don’t believe anything is good or bad because I am told so by authority. We find ourselves on this earth with a capacity for reason and a wealth of history from which to learn. I believe we are obliged to think for ourselves, and reach our own conclusions about what is right and wrong, which may not be the conclusions foisted on us by church or law.”
“We still have to obey the law.”
“If a man with a pistol tells us what to do, we will probably obey him too. That doesn’t make it right, only convenient.”
“Yes, but... All right, say I agree. Just for the sake of argument. Suppose we say there is no harm in—in intimacy of that sort, between men, outside marriage. Do the other precepts of morality not apply?”
“Which precepts? I would say that if all parties have a free choice—”
“Yes, but what about—about fidelity? If there is no marriage, I mean?”
“I don’t think either of us is in a position to argue that marriage is a guarantee of fidelity.”
“Perhaps not.” Guy was decidedly red in the face, and not just because the road was winding notably upward. “But it should be, shouldn’t it? I mean, if one has made a promise?”
“A forced promise is no promise,” Philip said. “Every day women are required to love, honour, and obey men of poor character, whom they frequently barely know. If they don’t love and there’s nothing to honour, they can hardly be expected to obey with grace. Or to stay faithful to men who show no inclination to reciprocate, come to that.”
“No, no, no,” Guy said. “I won’t have that argument. ‘It’s all right if everybody else does it’? That way lies every sort of wrong. If you’re going to discard conventional morality, you have to offer better.”
“Define ‘better’.” Philip was enjoying this enormously. Guy had forgotten his nerves in the urge to talk, and was evidently thrashing out ideas in his own head as well as arguing. “Who is to say that fidelity is a good in itself, rather than a means to secure the inheritance of property to the paternal line? Why should we confine ourselves to one person only?”
“Because it’s right!” Guy cried out, stopping and swinging round. He looked actually distressed. “Because if someone loves you, truly loves and—and adores you and gives you their heart, and you disregard that gift, that affection to—to approach others for your own pleasure, that’s not right. Not for man or woman or anyone. It’s betraying someone who loves you, and that’s cruel, and I wouldn’t expect it of—” He snapped his mouth shut, colour flaming treacherously over his cheeks.
“Expect it of whom?” Philip asked, and realised with a tingle across his skin that he might be able to guess. “Someone who you think has been kind?”
Guy turned his face away. Philip cast his mind back, felt a brief urge to kick himself, and sent the absent Corvin a heartfelt curse.
“Guy.” He waited for the man to turn back, which he did with visible reluctance. “I think we may have been speaking at cross purposes. Are you under the impression, at all, that Corvin and I are lovers in more than the physical sense? That I have his heart?”
“I didn’t mean to overhear,” Guy said stiffly. “It’s none of my business.”
Philip had no idea what part he’d witnessed, but he knew Corvin’s lovemaking well enough. “If anything you overheard led you to imagine that Corvin and I have any sort of quasi-matrimonial relationship, you couldn’t be more wrong. He’s very prone to endearments.” Beloved, my sweet, my angel. “John says he does it because it’s easier than remembering all the names. That’s a gross slur,” he added hastily, lest Guy have an apoplexy. “But not entirely inaccurate in principle. He is very dear to me, but I assure you that there is no question of fidelity, or wish for it, on his part or mine.”
“Then why were you—” Guy blurted out.
“Amusement. It’s a pleasant way to spend one’s time.”
“Is that all? We’re men, not beasts. Shouldn’t we strive for more than amusement?”
“Undeniably we should, but I don’t see why that should rule amusement out entirely. ‘To everything there is a season; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing.’ Ecclesiastes.”
“‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose’,” Guy said. “Shakespeare.”
“Oh, very good. But, quite seriously, I don’t believe that any reasonable deity would create humankind with the sexual urge and then damn us for using it. Using it poorly, or unkindly, yes. But not at all.”
“That’s what marriage is for. Or should be, at least.”
“And for those of us, men and women, not made for marriage?”
“I don’t know why you say ‘those of us’.” That didn’t sound challenging or aggressive. It sounded very like a question.
“For the moment, consider it wishful thinking,” Philip said. “Let me be frank. I find you intriguing, and extremely appealing, and delightful company, and very much a man who deserves more pleasure in his life. If you’d like to take that pleasure with me, I’d be honoured. If you aren’t so minded, don’t take offence at the offer, and I shan’t at the refusal. And if you decide you’d prefer Corvin, for example, I shall bow out like a gentleman, although I shall probably kick him in the shins at some point from pure envy.”
Guy’s eyes were huge, catching the green of the lush lands around them. Philip smiled into them. “You are entirely lovely and I’d like to prove that to you, but only if you wish. And now we are going to walk on, and you can tell me what you think when you’ve found out what it is.”
He set off. Guy was stock still, but hurried to catch up in a scrape of stones and dust.
“Is that the tree in question?” Philip asked, pointing at a huge, bare-branched tree some way away, on top of a hill.
“What? Yes.”
“It looks less leafy than I’d expected.”
“It was struck by lightning, several times. I really don’t want to talk about trees now. How on earth am I supposed to reply to what you just said?”
“Exactly as you prefer. You could say no, and I shan’t approach the subject again. Or you could say you’d like to think about it, and do so for as long as you need. Or you could say yes, and allow me to expand your knowledge beyond the pages of Suetonius and Catullus. May I add, though, that ‘yes’ now is not ‘yes’ forever. You have the prerogative of changing your mind.”
They walked on a few more steps. “I’m sorry,” Guy said at last. “I’ve never had a conversation like this in my life and I’ve no idea how one ought to conduct it and I don’t really have any idea what you’re offering me, or asking of me. I’ve only ever read about, uh, amours in novels, and this is not like the novels.”
“Not the generally available ones, certainly,” Philip said. “It really is quite simple, you know. I’m entirely charmed by you, and I’ve been wondering for some time how you might react if I kissed you. Any thoughts?”
“I don’t know,” Guy whispered.
“Between us, and feel free to tell me to mind my own business, have you ever been kissed?”
Guy shook his head, looking away in obvious embarrassment. Philip sighed. “People are so obtuse. I shouldn’t let it worry you. We all have to start somewhere, if we start at all, which is not compulsory.”
Guy made a stifled noise. “Is it not hard, just—just making all your own rules to live by?”
“Near impossible I should think, if you’re alone. I don’t have the courage or the intellect of the philosophers who change the world, although I dare say each of them stood on the shoulders of giants themselves. Had I been alone, I should probably have made some miserable, resentful attempt to fit into the preordained rules and restrictions. One must when there is no alternative, and I suppose a life of stifled endurance is better than none. But I wasn’t alone.”
Guy turned his face away. They walked on in silence, amid the sound of birdsong and the chatter of jays, the low hum of insect life busily working around them, Guy’s harsh breaths as he struggled for control. Philip would have pulled one of his friends into a hug without a second thought. He’d learned physical affection from Corvin, albeit late in his childhood and with horrible awkwardness, and he was far more aware than the others of the impact of a loving or kindly touch, and how long some people might go without feeling such a thing.
They walked up the hill to the great tree, the silence stretching out between them but not, Philip thought, uncomfortably. He was content to be silent when someone needed to think, and Guy was very clearly thinking.
The Gallows Oak was an impressive skeleton of a tree. A long blackened gash jagged down the top of the trunk, but even so a few green leaves sprouted from odd branches. Evidently the oak wasn’t quite prepared to give up.
Philip stood with the tree behind him and took in the view. The Yarlcote countryside stretched ahead of him, rising and falling in gentle curves of green edged with darker hedges or stone walls. They had gained enough height over the walk that one could see it as a landscape, and also that Philip’s thighs were aware of the unusual effort.
“I should bring John here,” he remarked. “I don’t know if he’d change his mind about the countryside, but he’d like this.”
There was an answering scrabble behind him. Philip turned and saw that Guy had seated himself on a thick branch, swinging his legs like a schoolboy.
“Good God. What are you doing up there?”
“We always used to sit here,” Guy said. “You get a better view and it’s peaceful. I can come down if you need.”
Philip gave him a narrow look. “You appear to be suggesting I can’t climb a tree.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried. All right, where does one put one’s hand?”
Guy pointed out a helpful knot and a stub of a branch. Philip followed instructions, slipped twice, cursed, put some effort into it, and found himself, after a brief, undignified scramble, more or less up at the branch. Guy extended a hand. Philip grabbed it—
I haven’t touched him before.
—hung on for dear life, and managed to twist round and plant his arse next to Guy’s. Regrettably, he had to let the man’s hand go to do it.
And there they sat, in a tree for God’s sake, legs dangling, looking out at England. Philip was conscious that the climb and the lichen on the old dry bark had probably played hob with his breeches, that he would appear ridiculous to any passer-by who recognised him as Rookwood of Rookwood Hall, and that he wouldn’t want to admit to John or Corvin what he’d been doing. How fortunate that I don’t care, he told himself, the old saying that one could repeat until it was true.
Except that Guy was looking serene here in a place he loved, and he’d been on the back foot since Amanda’s accident. This was good. It would probably be even better if Philip underscored his own ineptitude by falling out of the tree or some such, but he felt they had enough broken legs to be getting on with, so he shuffled a bit to seat himself more securely.
“You’re very well there. The branch won’t break.”
“I’m glad to hear you say so. I suppose you could climb to the top if you wanted.”
Guy twisted to give the branches above them an assessing look. “I have done, though not for years. You can see for miles if you reach the top, and the tree sways under you like a cradle in the wind. We’d sit here for hours, Amanda and I, watching the clouds and listening to the birds. We once sat here in a summer storm, getting soaked to the skin, because she wanted to know what it would be like. Nurse was furious—the clothes, but also the danger of lightning—but it was worth it. It’s a wonderful place to think.”
“I must own dozens of trees,” Philip said. “And Corvin has vast tracts of the things, and yet it’s never occurred to me to climb them. That feels like a serious omission.”
“You were probably too busy doing disreputable things.”
“Nameless crimes and Godless orgies and all the other evils people think I come here to pursue.”
“What did you come here to pursue?”
“My original quarry was Silesian white beet,” Philip said. “Although it does now seem to be you.”
“You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“You haven’t asked me to. If you’d rather I dropped the subject for good—”
“No,” Guy said, very quietly. “Don’t do that.”
Philip had two stalwart, handsome, experienced friends game for more or less any activity he might suggest and, in Corvin’s case, some he’d never think of unaided. It was ridiculous that something as trivial as that soft permission should constrict his chest with anticipation. “That would be preferable for me. I’d rather like to expand at some length on what I find irresistible about you. Are you aware how much your eyes change colour in different lights? And the way you blush—yes, exactly like that. The colour sweeps across your face so readily and it makes me wonder how responsive the rest of you might be. Your mouth, regarding which I think the less of John as an artist because he hasn’t abandoned his canvas to paint it. And the fact, above all, that you’re listening to me rhapsodise on your charms and you’re smiling. I did say you were like your sister. Your beauty hides itself away, invisible until you decide someone is worthy of seeing it. And then you smile, and it shines.”
Guy’s expression was living proof of that. He was blushing fiercely, and his eyes were bright, and Philip cursed every single impulse that had led them to the bare branches of the most visible landmark in the county, with a special malediction for the four-mile walk back to privacy and safety.
“Do you always talk like this?” Guy managed.
“Almost never.”
“You needn’t pretend. I do know you’ve plenty of, uh, experience.”
“I do. It just hasn’t been of the type that involves excruciatingly lengthy walks and climbing trees in order to win a hearing.”
“I suppose that would be difficult in London.”
“And time-consuming, though doubtless terribly healthy.”
“What would you normally say?” Guy pressed.
The answer to that was, Care for a fuck? Philip doubted that would help his cause, and in any case, it wasn’t actually true. It was what he’d say to John or Corvin, but this situation was in its way as foreign to his experience as it was to Guy’s.
He took a breath. “To be quite honest, I haven’t found myself in this precise situation before.”
“Up a tree?”
“With an innocent. I’ve never seduced anyone until now. That’s generally Corvin’s job.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Seducing me?”
“I think I must be. Is it working?”
“It...might be.” Guy shot him a look from under his lashes, glanced away almost at once. Philip had seen it done a hundred times, and far more skilfully, by paid boys and wondered why they bothered. Now he understood.
“You’re very charming,” Guy went on. “I’m sure you know that. And I’m quite sure you know precisely what you’re doing when it comes to—to seduction. But I’d rather you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.”
“I haven’t,” Philip said, somewhat indignantly. “I am, if anything, notorious for my refusal to utter polite lies. If I tell you you’re lovely, you may believe I think it.”
“My experience—well, not mine—that is, I believe that people, men, tend to say a great deal to get what they want. I would really prefer honesty. I don’t know if I could tell if someone was lying to me, and I don’t think that would be kind.”
“No. If I recall correctly, the only promise I have ever made you on this matter is that I will take no for an answer. You have my word as a gentleman on that. Otherwise, what honesty do you want?”
“I’d like to know why you’re, uh, seducing me,” Guy said. “Because you’ve said lot of nice things but I’m not, well, Lord Corvin, and I’m not really sure what you want, or why me. And I would rather know. I don’t much want to be made a fool of. I’m not saying you would do that,” he added hastily. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I thought so. But I would like to understand.”
Philip exhaled. “Well. For one, I know you’re not Corvin, but I fail to see how that is a point against you. I’m not Corvin either. I believe I just told you in some detail at least some of the reasons why I am going to these extreme and arboreal lengths; I might add that I very much liked the way you looked at me at dinner the other night, and during that uniquely interesting hour sitting for John, and I’d like to see that look again. No, I’d like to see that look satisfied, and if you would care to be relieved of your innocence, I want to be the man to do it. I think I could please you, Guy, and I should love to see you take pleasure from me.” Guy shivered, a visible motion. “And if you ask why to that, well, any competent lover finds as much joy in giving pleasure as taking it, and I do hope I’m competent.”
“I’m sure you are.” Guy’s voice sounded rather high.
“It isn’t complicated, in the end,” Philip said. “We eat, drink, and are merry, for tomorrow we die. Be merry with me?”
Guy nodded. It was silent, but it was heartfelt for all that, and Philip wanted nothing more than to get down from this damned obvious spot and find somewhere more discreet. Or, even just to be sure that no passing peasant could see them or was looking. He wanted to kiss Guy in the arms of this absurd tree, where he felt safe. He might have dared with Corvin, and be damned to anyone who might see; he wouldn’t put Guy at risk in that way.
And, he realised, with the sun on his face and the land stretching out in front of him, he was enjoying this moment of awareness, and agreement, and quiet companionship. Everything happened as quick as you like in London: everything was available for the asking except time, which was always at a premium. He usually found the slower rhythms and season-long deliberations of the country intolerable, and had spoken more than once about his desire not to die of old age waiting. Still, for now, he could take his time. There was no need to rush.