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Bennet laughed, unreasonably giddy.
They had enough time to check out the stalls before Will was due to teach. Will kept lively conversation, staying close, letting their knuckles bump—unafraid of anyone seeing it. He even suggested splitting a drink with two straws, and bopped Bennet on the nose with one of them before pushing it into their soda. Villagers gawked at them, and Will simply smiled back.
This was exactly the kind of good, kind, proud man that any gay guy would wish for.
Bennet was disappointed to part with him.
“Perhaps tonight, I could buy you a drink?” Will asked.
“Yes,” Bennet said, a little breathlessly, and after making arrangements, Will took off.
A quick round of the paddock and Bennet located his brother staring at a figure moving toward a row of trees. Bennet slung an arm around his neck.
“So . . . who was that?”
“I was up on the roof of the stables, watching you and Darcy on horseback on the other side of the river—you know, when it was flooded—and my essay—I mean some stuff I had—picked up in a gust of wind and”—he gestured toward the trees—“he was walking in the neighboring lane and he jumped the fence and collected it for me.”
“A real knight, I see.”
“I didn’t get his name then, but now I have it.” Lyon sighed dreamily. “You’ll never believe it. His name is also William.”
Bennet laughed and urged his brother in the direction of home via some lovely looking long grass. “Wonderful. Now we both have a Willy to obsess over.”
Charlie wasn’t at the pub. It was his usual night, so Bennet guessed he’d swapped a shift to hang out with Olivia. Which made three consecutive days they’d spent getting to know one another . . .
Bennet pushed the thought aside and beamed at Will, who had been regaling him with funny shearing mishaps he’d experienced over the years. What Bennet really wanted to hear about was Will’s history with Darcy . . .
Bennet sipped his wine slowly while formulating a way to broach the Darcy subject.
“I was curious,” Will said. “Do you know how long Darcy is staying in the village?”
Bennet let out a relieved chuckle. “Most of the summer, I think.”
“Ah.” Will’s lips pressed together.
Curioser and curioser. “I saw how you looked at each other today. I’ve been dying to know what that’s about.”
“Fair enough. Do you know him well?”
“Not well. I got stuck in his house when the river flooded and—let’s just say I don’t think he’s the easiest person to like.”
“Actually, I’m relieved to hear you say that,” Will said. “Most people think he’s the most wonderful man—and trust me, I get the allure. I rarely hear anyone admit he’s hard to like.”
“To be fair, I don’t know him well. Maybe he has wonderful sides. But I don’t have proof of them.”
“Ah, he does. Have wonderful sides. But he has issues that . . . never mind.” He flagged for another beer. “I shall ignore him.”
“The village might be too small—and too gossipy—to avoid him completely.” Bennet laughed.
Will squirmed on his stool. “He won’t chase me away, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Glad to hear it.” Sensing Will had more to say, Bennet sipped his wine and waited.
“I don’t want to be the guy that pours out all his woes and past pains until you pity me.”
The desperate look in his eyes said Will needed to share. Bennet set his glass down and looked at him. “Please be that guy.”
Will laughed with relief. “Fine. But it makes me look pathetic.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’ve known Darcy since high school. The truth is, he was the most wonderful guy I knew, back then.”
He hadn’t been prepared to hear that. Bennet twisted the stem of his glass as Will shared about the time he, his best friend Clara, and Darcy had spent together. The strength of their connection. How Will had once believed nothing in the world could break it.
“I was quite in love with him and I was convinced he liked men; I felt it—that there was something on his side too. It wasn’t only in my imagination.”
From everything Bennet had experienced, very likely not . . . “What happened?”
“There was a kiss. Once. After a party. But then he never mentioned it again. But I . . . hoped. Then one day during summer, he said he had something to tell me. I barely breathed the whole time waiting for him to spit it out. He looked me in the eye and told me he’d gotten my best friend pregnant. I—I couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to love me. I fooled myself into understanding, thinking, believing his being with her was because he didn’t know how to be with me.”
“I’m so sorry, Will.”
He huffed out a hollow laugh. “He married her. I told him it wasn’t right. He was ruining her life if he did. But he did it anyway, and once he was married, he refused to let me visit anymore. It hurt, not seeing him, but that he took away my best friend too . . .”
