Page 14

Andrew

On the way home, Andrew was seated in the middle of the carriage, his bags piled to his left, Edwin next to him on his right. Andrew’s feet were resting atop his wooden dark box, which meant that his knees were bunched up higher than they should have been. Still, even though his current position wasn’t the most comfortable, the awkward seating wasn’t the thing that was bothering him right then.

No, what was bothering him was the fact that Edwin had very obviously been keeping himself from looking at him for the last hour or so. At first, Andrew had attempted to convince himself that he’d only been imagining Edwin’s aloofness. Perhaps, he had thought, Edwin had simply been too focused on his friend William to pay him any mind. But now that they were alone in the carriage, Andrew knew for certain that Edwin really was refusing to look at him. And he suspected he knew why.

Back at the Whitney Estate, there had been a sort of . . . moment between them. At least, Andrew had thought there had been a moment. Clearly it had only been a moment for him and not for Edwin.

While the three men had been enjoying (or, well, tolerating, in Andrew’s case) their whiskeys, Andrew had caught Edwin staring at him in a . . . peculiar sort of manner—his hazel eyes shimmering, his cheeks slightly flushed, his mouth curled into the sweetest hint of a lopsided smile. And Andrew, unbalanced as he was, both because his head was never where it should be and because he had already begun to feel some of the effects of the alcohol by then, had thought that perhaps, maybe, possibly, Edwin had been staring at him in that manner because he liked him. Romantically. Or sexually. Or both.

And now he knew just how ridiculous that idea had been.

Despite the lingering pain of previous, life-changing rejection, Andrew had somehow let himself become momentarily entranced by the fleeting possibility of a connection like that—one he’d been yearning to experience for so many years. And so, Andrew had smiled back. He’d blushed, too. And then, horrifyingly enough, with his own eyes, he had tried to communicate to Edwin that he, too, was a man who found other men interesting in a way he wasn’t supposed to.

But, of course, Edwin hadn’t been looking at Andrew like that. It was clear to Andrew now that he had been imagining the whole thing. Worse yet, Edwin must have still caught onto Andrew’s silent flirtatiousness. And now the man couldn’t even stomach looking at him.

Andrew might have been able to endure the uncomfortable carriage ride if the event was only that—an uncomfortable carriage ride. But it was more complicated than just a short trek through the city. Because Edwin and William were friends. And Andrew needed William. He needed William (or at least William’s parents) to recommend Thompson’s Photography Studio to their well-to-do friends. And so, if, when Edwin saw William next, he complained about Andrew’s behavior, whether only hinting that Andrew had made him uncomfortable or outright saying that Andrew possessed certain socially unacceptable inclinations, then William might not recommend Andrew’s studio to others. Devastatingly enough, either William or his parents might even warn every other wealthy person in Albany to avoid his business completely.

Closing his eyes, Andrew chastised himself inside his head. How many blunders must he make in one day? One hour? One minute? Sometimes it felt like, thanks to his penchant for clumsiness—of both a social and physical nature—he’d never manage to build a respectable business. He had to remedy this. Somehow.

Andrew thought about it for a few seconds more. Perhaps he could show Edwin that he hadn’t meant any harm. And that he still didn’t.

After one more breath, Andrew reopened his eyes and forced a friendly (but hopefully not too friendly) smile as he shifted his positioning to more squarely face Edwin.

“So, Edwin, what’s your favorite plant?” Andrew asked, though he immediately felt silly for the inquiry.

Edwin shifted in his seat but kept his face to the window.

“Lilies, maybe,” the man replied, his voice soft and hesitant. Or perhaps slightly bored.

“Oh.” Andrew twiddled his thumbs. Now what? He wanted them to chat. Needed them to chat. He had to prove to Edwin that he was a nice, normal fellow. “Lilies are rather nice,” he tried.

Silence.

Andrew cringed.

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” he spluttered.

Edwin swiveled to face him, his brows lifting, his hazel eyes widening with surprise. Or incredulity.

Andrew swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry if I said anything that made you feel uneasy. Or if I behaved in a way that . . . Well, whatever it was, I promise it wasn’t intentional.”

Truer statement than not. Andrew really hadn’t meant to make Edwin feel however the man was feeling right now, even if he had meant to wordlessly communicate that he’d been a little intrigued by him.

Edwin continued to stare for a few maddeningly long seconds. Andrew fought the urge to squirm. And then Edwin let out a breath and scrubbed his face.

“No, sorry, it’s my fault. I . . . Never mind. I’m not uncomfortable. Not . . . because of you, anyway.”

Andrew practically wilted in relief.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he said through an exhale before huffing a light laugh and sighing somewhat dramatically. “I spent the last hour convincing myself that you hated me.”

Edwin, though, didn’t laugh with him. Instead, the man only shook his head. His eyes bored into Andrew’s soul.

“Not at all,” he said, with a lilt in his voice that made Andrew’s stomach flutter.

“Oh. Good.”

Before Andrew could think of anything else to say, the carriage rolled to a stop. Drat. He would have loved to keep talking to Edwin. Perhaps this was for the best, though. Especially because he couldn’t seem to keep himself from seeing things that weren’t there. Or even keep himself from finding the man interesting in the first place.