“And how does young Luc?”
Will smiled. Since Luc’s return to London’s musical scene a few years back, following a hasty trip abroad, the young violinist had been a regular visitor to Henrietta Street. Martin had easily accepted the young man as Will’s protégée.
“He’s very well. Going from strength to strength in his performances.”
“Good.”
Martin slid an arm around Will’s waist to anchor him. “I know you’re fond of the lad.”
“He reminds me of myself at that age.”
Martin looked quizzical.
Will laughed.
“Not physically, although we are both spare in build. But he towers over me and is as dark as I am fair, although I’m sure my hair will turn from blond to white soon enough. I mean in terms of ambition. Luc is so hungry for music, and to establish himself more securely.”
Will didn’t add that he recognised a sense of vulnerability in Luc. A deep-seated yearning from the long struggle to achieve recognition against all odds.
And the fact that, like me, Luc’s taste runs to men rather than women.
Will clearly remembered the sensation that the world was ranged against him as a youth. He had reached out to Luc on impulse due to fellow-feeling.
“He’s a genuine talent and deserves every success.”
“Like his mentor,” Martin said gruffly. “You’ve overcomeheaven and earth to get to where you are in your profession. You’re remarkably single-minded for a little dab chick.”
Will grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please do. If you weren’t so dainty, you couldn’t take your regular place on my knee, which I would sorely miss. What you lack in bulk you make up for in sheer determination.”
“Ah, but in my case, I had a secret weapon.”
“What was that?” Martin lifted the glass to his lips.
“You.”
Martin spluttered into his wine.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “You were the one with the dreams and the fortitude to carry them through to fruition. Anyone else, including myself, would have given up long before and plumped for an easier option.”
“I almost did, more times than I can count,” Will confessed. “But I had you by my side. You helped me believe I could achieve my dreams over time and with a little good fortune. And most of all, you gave me the means to escape from my father’s clutches.”
Martin grimaced.
“I could hardly have left you to his mercy. I found it wearing enough to defer to Sir Hervey at the War Office and I only had to suffer his edicts occasionally when he deigned to address me. At least I didn’t have to tolerate him as a parent. Or should I say, gaoler. I’m aware I’m very fortunate in my family, but I was shocked at his treatment of you, as a pawn in his schemes, attempting to force a marriage between you and Imogen against both your wishes.”
Sitting in Martin’s lap, that long-ago pressure and uncertainty, acute though it had been at the time, seemed further away than seventeen years.
Perhaps because everything worked out for the best.
Instead of being forced into matrimony, Imogen, Will’sclosest childhood ally, had married her intended, George, after some contriving from Will.
Meanwhile, Martin had arranged for Will to have an interview for a post in the Ordnance Office, under the auspices of Sir Hervey’s direct political rival. This opportunity snatched Will away from his father’s household and his inevitable wrath that that his plans had gone awry, along with the plot of land he wished to possess, included as part of Imogen’s marriage settlement.
“I suppose it’s ancient history now,” Martin continued. “What with your father losing his post when Addison’s government was defeated in ‘04 and subsequently falling out with his patron.” Martin grimaced. “Sir Hervey might be a martinet but he should have known better than to publicly berate a viscount. Yet his subsequent retirement to the countryside worked in our favour at least. Even now, he scarcely shows his face in London.”
“I’m thankful for that small mercy.”
