Austin stepped aside, allowing his friend to escape into the bathroom. He found his shoes on the floor near the door, his glasses were on the coffee table. He didn’t remember putting them there at all. Hell, he didn’t remember taking off his shoes.
His clothes were still in the bathroom. He remembered stepping over them when he had to piss. His keys would be in his jeans pocket. Hell, he couldn’t escape if he wanted to.
He sat on the bed and tried to stop thinking about his best friend in the throes of orgasm. An orgasm that hadn’t included Austin. He rubbed the back of his neck. The hair standing on end there had nothing to do with the cold.
Austin couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Whatever was going on between his legs froze to death… or was scared into submission.
“I don’t see dead people, I don’t see dead people, I don’t… see… dead… people.” He pulled the covers up to his chest and tried not to freak the hell out. When the sun finally rose high enough to spill into the room, the hair standing on the back of his neck relaxed.
“Austin?” Rory shouted into the silence of the room, and Austin jumped out of his goddamned skin.
“I don’t see dead people,” he said, trying to convince himself. Because… that was no leprechaun.
“Okay.” Rory still wouldn’t look him in the eye. He sounded as exhausted as Austin felt.
“I’m not losing my mind,” he said just so someone else would hear. And that probably meant he was losing his mind.
“That probably makes one of us,” Rory whispered and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I… guess… I was dreaming. Haven’t had a wet dream since I was a kid.” He paused long enough that Austin had the sense that he wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth. “I’ve had about three hours of sleep. I don’t think I can drive right now.”
Austin rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. The coldness of the room the only thing making his skin prickle now. “Come back to bed, where it’s warm.” He held the covers up and waited.
Rory paused for a long moment, holding the towel to his waist. He bit his bottom lip and finally met Austin’s gaze. “I’m…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Austin rushed to cut off whatever he was about to say. He didn’t know what he expected to hear. Maybe he was more worried that Rory would tell him he wasn’t thinking about him, than the other option. “Happens to me all the time.”
Rory dropped his gaze to the floor, then the towel, and strode the six steps, and climbed over Austin to lie against the wall. Austin arranged the quilts over them and rolled on his side to face his friend. Rory’s eyelashes were a deep russet shade in the morning sunlight. His eyes… a startling golden sunburst surrounded by a ring of mossy green.
“Like peat at sunrise,” Austin whispered in surprise and moved closer to his friend, looking for warmth. Rory huffed out a mint-scented breath and scooted closer until their noses and foreheads touched. “You have beautiful eyes, Rory,” he whispered. “I never noticed before.”
“Better late than never I guess,” Rory whispered back, he didn’t return the compliment. He closed his eyes and sighed. A warm hand slipped over Austin’s hip and under the waistband of his pants. Rory pulled him so close he could feel his thighs through the flannel. “When you’re ready, Austin,” he whispered sleepily a few moments later. “Just sleep now.”
Austin closed his eyes to fight back the prickle of… god, he ached… all over.
Everywhere, but where Rory touched him.
Rory’s breath evened out, and Austin wiggled closer to him. He wished his wrist wasn’t broken. He wanted to… stroke his friend’s naked body… but not enough to tempt his dick into waking up.
Chapter Twelve
July 1912
The boy hasn’t been himself for several days. He doesn’t eat. He finds excuses to not be around when it comes to chores. If my brother was here, he’d take a firm hand to him, I’m sure.
The stable boy ran off three days ago. I do not know if this is happenstance, or merely an inconvenience. We could scarcely afford to keep him on, but there is no one to muck the stalls I am told. Shiftless boy. Always loafing around and keeping Heath from his chores.
HC has gone to Savannah to bring the girl home. Her dowry will keep us operating until HC has the mill running at full capacity again. When she conceives a male heir, her dowry will increase. Heathcliff is not cooperating in the slightest. I am told the girl is quite fetching, with the bounty young men his age find appealing.
Ella is thriving, she will be of marrying age in just a few years. HC says we may not have to pay someone to take her off our hands when the time comes. He expects a suitable match from Atlanta. There is interest, it seems.
Ruth lost a tooth today.
~
On the fourth day of Christmas…
“That’s messed up,” Austin said to no one as he closed the journal. “This Culla woman was one uptight bitch.”
His office door opened and Rory came in. He looked better than he had this morning. He looked like he’d slept at least. He carried a thermal bag filled with food, as was becoming his habit of late. “Stew again tonight. It’s still cold, and I wanted some comfort food. Plus, I thought you’d appreciate something you could eat one-handed.”
Leaning back in his desk chair, Austin used his teeth to take off the rubber glove, failing miserably. Growling, he flapped his hand, hoping it would come off by itself. It didn’t.
“Fucking hell,” he shouted, wincing as his voice echoed in the nearly empty building. The tea room ladies were cleaning up and getting ready to head home for the night. “I can’t even take a fucking glove off. How am I supposed to do my job?”
Stepping around the table, Rory grabbed his hand. Pulling the glove off in a swift motion, he tossed it into the trash. “Sounds like the pain meds are wearing off.”
“Sounds like, I haven’t taken any since they put this damned thing on my arm.” Austin attempted to shove his broken arm in front of his friend’s face, but it was strapped to his chest so he wouldn’t move it around. “Considering I keep seeing strange shit when I’m hopped up. Anyway… it doesn’t hurt that much.”
“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to see you when you’re in a bad mood.” Rory took out the crock of food and found the stash of disposable bowls and plates Austin had tucked under his coffee maker and microwave. “Eat something and I’ll walk you home.”
“Are you going to tuck me in?” Austin said before he could stop himself. He couldn’t keep the image of Rory in the throes of orgasm out of his mind. Something squeezed his chest… like… he was… upset.
“I have to go to work.” Rory set a bowl in front of him and handed him a spoon. “Got any water?”
“In the fridge.” Austin dropped his gaze to his food. He poked a potato with his spoon. It turned to mush. “Get two.”
Rory twisted the top off a bottle and set it beside his bowl. “I could come back… when we close.” He didn’t look at Austin when he offered. He didn’t sit down either. He stood twisting the cap on his bottle off and on again. He seemed… nervous.
“Sit down, okay.” Austin sighed. The band that felt so tight around his chest dissolved and he could breathe again. He had no idea what he wanted from his friend. “I’m not ready.”
“I know. And I wasn’t trying to press,” Rory said in a rush of words, his ancestral accent slipping in to wreak havoc on Austin’s… what? Libido? He’d heard Rory with his Irish up many a time back in Savannah when he’d waited tables at the Callaghan’s down there. Rory’s father sounded like he just stepped off the boat despite being third-generation American born. Rory could turn it on and off at will. Part of his charm, and the job, he supposed.
“I know you aren’t.” Austin stabbed a carrot until it turned to mush. Why the fuck not? He wanted to shout. “Your place is too cold. You’re not sleeping.”
“And you need someone to help you get your zipper down to take
a piss in the morning.”
“I didn’t need it this morning. I can do anything.”
“Really?” A devious gleam entered his friend’s eyes. “Clap.”
Austin lay his spoon down on the table and glared at his friend. He couldn’t clap with his arm strapped to his chest. But he could lift his middle finger up for Rory to inspect.
“Bravo,” Rory said, clapping softly, the devious gleam turning into a smirk. “Now eat your dinner so I can force a pain pill down your gullet and take you home. It’s getting dark. You should be in bed.”
Austin didn’t need coddling. His head hurt too much to deal with any of this bullshit. “Okay.”
Rory leaned back in the chair across from him, the smirk gone. “Who are you and what have you done with Austin?”
“Life is too short to be a dick all the time,” he said, but he didn’t know who he meant.
“You should know.”
“Asshole.”
“Takes one to know one,” Rory whispered and tucked into his meal. Playtime was over, it seemed.
The stew was filling, but he couldn’t say that he tasted anything. He couldn’t even taste water. Maybe he was tired.
Or maybe he really was going crazy.
Four irritating people, three sleepless nights, two broken bones, and an antique diary.
Chapter Thirteen
January 1913
The bride wore antique white lace. Nephew may be the only male I have ever encountered to not show any interest in the marriage bed.
Poor girl. At least her unfortunate Irish hair isn’t as Irish as that of the mother. New money doesn’t wash away the stench of bad breeding. If Nephew has even half the sense, he was born with he’ll bed her quickly and hope his offspring favor the Cortlandt side.
The wedding party departed for the coast.
The sheriff came by after HC had left. There are lingering questions about the stable boy.
Ella may have caught the eye of one Richmond Halliwell. He is in his late twenties from an old line. One of the first families of Virginia. I did not know HC was so well connected.
If he’d been as diligent in finding his son a match… or waited. The boy is barely eighteen. A man, yes, but so immature.
Ruth tore her dress. She’s becoming a hoyden before my very eyes.
~
On the fifth day of Christmas…
The crate he’d started unpacking Christmas day waited for him in his office. The journal the only object removed so far. His arm didn’t hurt as much today as it had. Still hurt, but not so much that he could put off work another day.
He had his interns do the heavy lifting. All three capable women in the graduate program at Emory. They knew what they were doing. Everyone wore gloves. Everything they removed was documented. And discussed.
“This one looks like family portraits,” Jemma said as she removed one large gilt-framed portrait. “This one seems to be of…” she checked the notes that went with that crate, “the Cortlandt family, circa 1910. Two adults, one young adult or older teen, a male. Two girls. One around ten if I had to guess, maybe eight on the low side, the other little more than a toddler. The two adults resemble enough to be siblings. But considering the era… cousins. And ick.”
“I believe the last heirs to live in the house were a brother and sister, twins, possibly, or Irish twins as they call children born very close together. The sister never married. The children were the product of three different marriages, all ending with the mother dying in childbirth.” Britney read from the family history that was included with the crate. “What about it, Doctor Baylor, you’ve been reading the journal?”
Austin stopped turning pages and focused on the portrait Jemma was handling with care. His heart catching in his throat. The young male… a much younger version of the man he’d… hallucinated. “The aunt, I think. I’m not sure. Her name was Henrietta. Henrietta Charlotte, I believe I read. HC is the father. Heathcliff Charles Cortlandt. The son bears the same first name as the father, but I am unclear if his middle name is Charles. It would have been customary to name the son by the mother’s last name.”
“That’s most often for second sons,” the third intern, Donna, piped in. She was working on cataloging the contents of the plastic tote Austin had opened Christmas day. “The birth record in the family bible implies that there was a second-born son that didn’t live long. Same mother as the first daughter. His name was Eustice.”
“Poor kid,” Jemma chuckled. “What the hell… sorry, Doctor Baylor… heck, was his mother’s maiden name?”
“Don’t apologize. We’re all adults here. I’m assuming none of us are prudes. And call me, Austin. I am not used to hearing Doctor in front of my name. It’s still very new to me.” Trying not to stare at the image of the man he’d fallen for, he paged through the journal, one page at a time. “I have no idea. The records are incredibly spotty. I think Henrietta might have been called Culla. No idea why. Culla mostly keeps a daily record of household chores. She is plain-spoken and very judgmental. She likes a neat household. She discusses the declining wealth quite a bit. She thinks one of the maids is stealing the silver.”
“Odds are old HC is selling off the valuables to keep up appearances. Or he bought his son out of going to war. Wasn’t there some kind of financial panic around that time?” Jemma placed the portrait on the table at the far wall where they were laying out artifacts.
“1907. The next major financial crash would have been in 1929 and the family appears to have…” Donna replied as she turned the page in the large bible. “Had died out by then. Or someone stopped recording births and deaths in 1917. After half the family passed around Christmas that year. The aunt and one niece and… a grandchild survived. But I have no further record of them here.”
A grandchild? “The son married in early 1913, according to the journal. The bride seems to be of Irish descent. The aunt did not approve.”
“Isn’t the name Cortlandt Irish?” Britney lifted another smaller portrait out of a box. This one stopped Austin’s heart. The son, older now, with a lovely young woman with pale hair that could be blonde or streaked with strawberry. Her eyes were green. They seemed timid, for lack of a better word, with each other. Probably newlywed, and just as newly acquainted.
“Dutch,” Jemma answered. “Just as bad in the nineteenth century. Well, maybe one step up from the Irish and Germans.”
“White people hating on white people, who knew,” Britney said, shaking her head.
“Pretty much. Anyway, I’m starving. Anyone up for lunch over at the pub?” Donna closed the bible and tucked it back in its box. “That bartender is…”
“Sleeping with Doctor Baylor.” Jemma stopped her before she could say something that might upset Austin. “But he is yummy isn’t he.” She winked at Austin.
“We’re just friends.” Austin held up his one good hand, the purple glove catching his attention, reminding him of last night. “We’ve known each other for years. Nothing going on but… someone helping me while I’m one-handed.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jemma hummed and held out her hand. “Let me help you, Doctor Austin. And we’ll work on your plausible deniability skills.”
“I am not lying. We have never had an intimate relationship. And he’s bisexual and fair game.” He held out his hand for Jemma to remove his glove.
“But he moved here to be near you. And he’s sleeping in your apartment. I saw him leave this morning. He looked like he hadn’t slept much.” Britney teased, a light in her eyes that all but accused him of being blind. “I think maybe our Doctor Austin isn’t as perceptive as he thinks he is.”
“You’ve been here all of two weeks and he was almost run down by a car… oh wait, that’s not a valid counterargument.” Jemma turned to face him, the same look in her eyes.
Austin leaned back in his chair and let his head fall back in mock disbelief. “Okay, fine, you got me. I’m gay. And he is so very fine. And off-limits. And honestly… just go g
et some lunch before Mrs. Henley brings back a platter of scones and cucumber sandwiches.”
“Are you coming?” Donna asked as she brushed her fingers through her hair and pinched her cheeks. Austin had never seen anyone but Scarlett O’Hara do that.
“No, I’m going to stay here, I have several calls to make today. I’ve been playing phone tag with the home office all morning. If you’d please ask Rory to send me back something that would be awesome… and to put it on my tab. I’ll cover it since we’re working late tonight.”
“Ugh.” Britney groaned and skipped out of the workroom before he could change his mind.
“One hour,” he called out before they could all disappear.
“We’ll tell Rory you send your love,” Jemma called back.
“Impertinent,” he shouted, as the courtyard door slammed behind them.
Austin rubbed his forehead and wondered if the headache coming on was from lack of food, constant chatter, or the concussion. He eyed the portraits lined up on the table. Curiosity going into overdrive, he pushed his chair back and sauntered to the table.
The two larger portraits he’d seen. Reportedly of the family. All of them looking like they’d swallowed bitter pills. To be fair, did anyone back then ever look happy in photographs?
Moving on to the wedding portrait. The happy couple looked more like people being led to the gallows than newlyweds. The bride’s dress would be ivory lace. The groom’s suit, black. The cravat he wore would be a shade of blue to bring out his eyes. The three smaller portraits were of the children, Heath, Ella, and Ruth.
Austin wished he’d ignored his curiosity and followed the interns to the pub.
Five gilt portraits, four irritating people, three sleepless nights, two broken bones, and an antique diary.
Chapter Fourteen
October 1915
There is war in Europe. Nephew is threatening to join the armed forces. He seems determined. He does not share the marriage bed with his bride. The additional dowry she was to bring is now forfeit. Her parents are petitioning to annul the marriage. We would have to pay back the dowry if this should come to pass. Nephew is not repentant, no matter how often HC takes his belt to him.
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