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He so yearned to add that he’d been that person for Baldwin for years. He so yearned to address the fact that, although Baldwin could never give him what he so required, so lusted after, he still honoured their friendship above all things. He’d never envisioned such pain to entrench itself between them. But it was something he supposed he would have to carry for a long time. Perhaps the rest of his life.
“I don’t suppose I have much to offer her,” Baldwin said softly. He seemed wistful for his own reasons, surely swimming in his own chaotic mind. “I only know the sorts of men the Regent and Lewis hang about with, and I cannot, in good conscience, allow Marta to attend the event without necessary precaution. But, Ewan, we’ll do it together. We’ll go together. We—we make an excellent team, you and I.”
“And what if we’re wrong?” Ewan asked. He arched his brow as he turned his head. His voice caught in his throat. “Suppose Marta and Lewis truly have something.”
Baldwin spread his fingers wide. “Then I suppose it’s a fact we’ll both have to live with. Perhaps we haven’t seen the full picture of both of them. There’s always a possibility that we’re entirely incorrect on all fronts. I suppose that’s simply a part of this life we must live.”
Baldwin’s words stuck in Ewan’s head for many hours after that, long after he’d paraded his horse back to the Thompson Estate and allowed Baldwin to take his leave. Ewan returned his horse to its stall and fed and watered him, watching as the beautiful beast stabbed his nose into a vat of oats and chewed contemplatively. Just as Baldwin had said, Ewan did perceive a sadness in all things. How many times had he stood in that very spot, watching this very action, throughout his childhood and his teenage years and then later, now, his adulthood? All too soon, everything shifted around him in ways he couldn’t fully perceive until much later.
At the dinner table, Ewan’s mother was in a general childish uproar about Marta’s invitation to the Regent’s party. She ate sparingly, occasionally remembering the stew before her, dipping her fork against the meat, and then flung her head upward again to spout off another thought.
“Mother. Don’t pester the poor girl any longer,” Ewan said. He tried on a laugh, although it sounded false in his ears.
His mother cackled. “I’m terribly sorry, Marta. It’s only that I thought I’d never have such fun again. Ewan’s such a bore when it comes to courting rituals. I must write your mother yet another letter, explaining what a prosperous woman you’ve become in England—already!”
“Yes. What would she have done without you?” Ewan asked. He cut Marta a wry smile, and her cheeks flashed pink with embarrassment.
“It’s a pity that Baldwin couldn’t remain for dinner,” Marta said suddenly. She tilted her head.
Ewan wondered if she could even sense the desire that stirred in her heart; it was something he found reflected in her eyes: proof that she fell for Baldwin with each passing day.
“Our dear Baldwin is always overwhelmed with his own responsibilities,” Ewan’s mother insisted, sounding almost flippant. “And we honour him for that.”
Ordinarily, Ewan hadn’t much control over his dreams and visions. But that night, perhaps via some sort of gift from the universe, when he stretched back on his mattress, his brain poured over him visions and views of a far different reality. He swam in worlds of lust and happiness—of images made up of the beauty of Baldwin’s smile. When he awoke, he did so sadly, his movements staggered and lifeless. He appeared at the window to blink out at the sunrise, the glowing bulb reappearing over a world that would never truly feel like his.
