Just a Little Heartache

by Merry Farmer

  “And now the unimaginable has happened,” the letter went on. Niall recalled every word. “Annemarie has uncovered the truth at last. She puzzled out who and what I am and where my heart truly lies. And she has taken the children. I am beside myself. I don’t know where they have gone. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep in days. It feels like the last of my soul has been ripped from my body. I am terrified that Annemarie will take the children to her father’s home in America, in which case, I may never see them again.

  “I don’t know what to do, Niall. I don’t know who else to turn to who will fully understand the position I am now in. I need you, more than I have ever needed anyone. I knew it the moment I saw you again. Please, Niall, please come to me. Please forgive me for turning my back on you by helping me now. I don’t think I can go on without you. Yours, truly, Blake.”

  Yours. Truly. Niall swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, hopping onto an omnibus that would take him to Park Lane. Those two words, so common in ending correspondence, were everything Niall had ever wanted to hear from Blake but had long ago given up on. Blake should be his, but he wasn’t. Their love should be true, but it had proven to be otherwise. And now here he was, standing at a crossroads as Blake begged for his help. Begged in the most painful, desperate language Niall could imagine.

  He pondered it all as the omnibus rattled on. What was he supposed to do with a plea like that? Everything within him longed for Blake and had for more than a decade. The man was his other half. He’d known it from the moment he laid eyes on him. But Blake had hurt him. No, it was more than that. Blake had fatally wounded his heart. Niall hadn’t been the same since that horrible spring day. The sight of Blake’s regret-filled, hazel eyes, their long lashes, and the deadness of his look would haunt Niall until the day he died. Even his brief reunion with Blake almost a month ago now in Leeds had left Niall feeling raw and unsettled. Blake had been affable enough when Niall had taken Everett and Patrick to Leeds in an effort to thwart Blake’s brother, Montague, Lord Castleford, who had been part of a notorious child kidnapping ring. The time he and Blake had spent together had been short and brittle, but it had been the first time the two of them had laid eyes on each other in a decade, and it had ripped the wound open all over again.

  The omnibus stopped at Hyde Park Corner, and Niall got off. He walked the rest of the way to the discreet door of The Chameleon Club lost in thought, barely nodding to the attendant at the front desk when he entered. He didn’t have any particular business at the club, but he always felt a level of comfort there. The Chameleon Club was a formal and discreet establishment for gentlemen like him, owned by The Brotherhood. It was a place where there was no judgement, and where help was often just a conversation away. Niall didn’t have any particular expectation of help, although, he thought to himself with a wry grin, he wouldn’t say no to some of the club’s excellent pastries and tea.

  He was just helping himself to a scone in the dining room—which was quiet as usual on a Thursday morning, but not entirely abandoned—when none other than John Dandie approached him, a young, awkward-looking man with blond hair, like he spent his time out in country sunshine, trailing behind him.

  “John, what are you doing here?” Niall asked, taking his scone to one of the empty tables in the vast room.

  “Hadn’t you heard?” John asked. “I’ve moved back to London. I’m opening a new law office.”

  “Not rejoining David and Lionel?” Niall asked, referring to John’s former law partner, David Wirth, and David’s new partner—in every sense of the word—Lionel Mercer.

  John grinned. “That would have been awkward, considering all the water under the bridge between David and I. I’m setting up a new practice. This is Cameron Oberlin, the clerk I’ve just hired to manage the place.”

  “How do you do?” Young Mr. Oberlin nodded uncomfortably, bobbing a quick bow and glancing around, as though ghosts would pop out of the walls at any moment.

  “Cameron is a country lad,” John said with a friendly grin, thumping the young man’s arm. “He’s not used to the idea that there’s a safe place for our sort in the big, noisy city.”

  “I see.” Niall shook the man’s hand before sitting. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

  “But what about you?” John took a seat at the table with Niall, gesturing for Mr. Oberlin to do the same. “I saw you as you walked in. You looked as though you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. You still do.”

  Niall sighed and reached for the teapot and a teacup from the center of the table, where the service was already set. Instinct told him to keep himself to himself, but he’d known John for ages. Known him at university, in fact. John knew Blake as well. In fact, John and David had had front row seats for the bliss and the heartache back then that drove Niall to distraction now. If ever there was someone Niall could confide in, it was John.

  All the same, he didn’t trust himself to actually talk about it. Instead, he paused in the middle of pouring his tea and took Blake’s letter out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, then gingerly handed it over to John.

  “What’s this?” John asked, taking the letter with a concerned look. As he opened it and scanned through it, Niall finished pouring his tea. He poured for John and the decidedly intimidated Mr. Oberlin as well. When John finished reading the letter, he blew out a breath, folded the letter and put it back in its envelope, and handed it back over to Niall. “Judging by the date, you’ve had that in your possession for some time now.”

  “A week,” Niall admitted, voice hoarse. He took a sip of tea.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” John asked, taking up his own teacup.

  “I don’t know,” Niall said, sipping tea to avoid giving more of an answer.

  “I’ve heard all about Blake’s current troubles,” John confessed. “Gossip travels fast in our circles.”

  “It does,” Niall agreed, setting his teacup down. His stomach twisted a little too much for him to drain his cup, like he would have if it were whiskey.

  “It sounds to me as though Blake could use a trusted friend right now.” The look in John’s eyes said something far different than his words. It said that Blake could use his old lover back.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Niall sighed. “He hurt me, John. Ten years, and I still haven’t recovered.”

  John reached across the table and patted Niall’s hand. “The heart is the most difficult organ to heal, but it’s better than leaving it broken.”

  Niall glanced at his friend. John was right in theory, but in practice, forgiveness was much harder. Niall didn’t know if he was capable of it. He’d invested too much of himself all those years ago and had paid a steep price for it.

  “What exactly happened between you and Blake anyhow?” John asked. “I mean, I know about Annamarie and everything the late Lord Selby demanded of Blake, but what happened between the two of you?”

  Niall swallowed the lump in his throat, his whole body throbbing with bittersweet memories. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s a long story.”

  Chapter 2

  York – 1880 – Ten Years Earlier

  The room Niall had been able to commandeer for auditions for the play he’d written over the winter as the last project of his final year at university wasn’t all that he’d hoped it would be.

  “It’s too small,” he muttered to John and David as they helped set up chairs for their fellow students at the back of the room, who had come to audition. “It doesn’t even come close to approximating the stage in the auditorium.”

  “At least it has a piano.” John nodded to the instrument in the corner.

  “Why wouldn’t they let you hold auditions in the auditorium?” David asked, taking two chairs to the table that had been dragged into the center of the room for Niall.

  “I’m just a student, and Professor Carroll is giving a lecture there this afternoon,” Niall answered with a sigh.

  “That old w
indbag?” John snorted a laugh. “Lecturing about his trip to Egypt last autumn again, is he?”

  “For your information,” a young man with sandy-brown hair piped up from the cluster of hopefuls at the back of the room, “Professor Carroll is a great explorer and Egyptologist. His excavation work in Thebes has garnered international attention.”

  “Yes, of course, and I respect him highly for it,” Niall answered the young man graciously, then turned a scolding look on John. “Professor Carroll’s lecture is more important than auditions for a student play.”

  “Yes, but aren’t you performing this as part of commencement festivities next month?” David went on, taking a few chairs to the front of the room, which had been designated as the stage area.

  “That’s the arrangement I have at the moment,” Niall said with a wary sigh.

  In fact, it had taken a minor miracle and the intervention of Professor Ballard from the English department to convince the committee in charge of commencement ceremonies to allow Niall to stage his original musical play during the most public week of the university’s year. Few of the men on the committee had wanted to take a chance on a green playwright. Even fewer had loved the idea of an all-male production of a show with explicitly female parts, particularly as it was a love story.

  Truth be told, Niall was anxious about the production himself. Not just because he was the only person he knew with a voice high enough to perform the lead female role. If and when he was able to stage the play in London, he would most definitely cast women in the female roles. Seeing as there was a dearth of women in attendance at university—and even if the place had been crawling with female scholars, none would have dared to audition—if Niall wanted his play produced, he would have to fill the leading lady role himself.

  “At least they didn’t force you out into the green for your auditions,” John said, crossing the room to inspect the piano. It was a simple upright that stood in one corner. John tapped a few keys, proving that the instrument was in tune, at least. “That was sporting of them.”

  “This is the choir room,” Niall said, going to the table to organize the sides he’d had made up for auditions into piles designated by scene. “Gentlemen, if you’d care to come forward and sign your name to the audition list, then take some of these scenes to study, we’ll begin the audition momentarily.”

  The dozen or so fellow students who had come to audition gathered around the table, putting their names down and taking sides, all while murmuring to each other. Niall moved to the piano, where David and John were picking out simple tunes and flirting a little too obviously.

  “The two of you had better watch your step,” Niall warned them. “The walls have eyes, and you know how difficult life can be if the wrong people get wind of who you are and what you like.”

  “I’d like to see them try to cause trouble for us,” John said, sending David a fond look. David was too busy playing the piano to notice. “Besides,” John went on. “If anyone asks why David and I are thick as thieves, we’ll just tell them it’s because we’re working together to start a law practice in London after graduation.”

  “So you’re going through with those plans?” Niall asked.

  “Yes,” David answered, proving he was paying attention after all. “So when you eventually relocate to London to launch your fabulous career as a playwright and theater impresario, we can all still be friends.”

  “Well,” Niall replied with a wry grin, turning back to his table. “At least we can still be friends.”

  It was nice to share a laugh with men that he did, indeed, consider his friends. Friends had been few and hard to come by for Niall. Aside from being raised in a quiet section of the English countryside, where most of his peers were more interested in the latest in farming equipment or crop rotation techniques when he was up to his eyeballs in Shakespeare and Moliere, few of the other lads had wanted to play with the slender, effeminate boy whose voice didn’t seem like it would ever change.

  It wasn’t until he had secured a place at university and found himself amongst his own kind—in more ways than one—that Niall had begun to flourish. He’d made friends, put on a few needed pounds of muscle, learned to play cricket—though he would never be any good at it—and his voice finally dropped…a bit. And for a change, he was celebrated for his skill with a pen instead of teased for it. With graduation right around the corner and the excitement of his planned move to London to pursue the theater as a career—mad as everyone thought he was for it—Niall felt as though his life were just about to begin.

  “Thank you for coming out to audition, gentlemen,” he addressed the small but growing crowd of hopefuls who were waiting to audition for his play. He could hardly believe that anyone would be interested in something he’d written, let alone forgoing other activities to take part in it. “A few of the roles have already been filled, but plenty of major parts are still in need of casting, including Siegfried, the male lead.”

  “Who’s playing Greta, then?” a tall man standing near the back of the room asked with a cheeky grin.

  “Please say it’s one of the Miller twins,” another hopeful added, causing a round of laughter. The Miller twins were buxom sisters, daughters of the university’s bursar, whom half of the student body had their eye on.

  “I’m afraid I’ll be playing the role of Greta,” Niall laughed along with them. “All roles will be filled by university students.”

  “No girls?” the tall man asked, no longer amused.

  “Not this time.”

  The tall man grumbled something, thrust the pages of script he’d taken off the table at the man standing closest to him, and stomped out of the room.

  Niall’s brow flew up as he fought not to be offended. “I guess I’m not pretty enough for him,” he said, feigning a hurt look.

  The others laughed, which went a long way to ease the tension that had been growing in Niall’s shoulders. He gestured for the remaining hopefuls to take seats at the back of the room as John helped himself to a chair at the table where he sat.

  “If it’s girls you’re looking for,” the man who had defended Professor Carroll said, “we’ve got some staying at our house. They’ve been there all summer.”

  Niall did his best to hide his grin over the man’s eagerness to share the information as he shifted through the papers on the table. “Is that so?” he asked, not really paying attention. He needed to start the auditions so that he could get on with things, cast the play, and start rehearsals. His future life depended on it.

  “Not just any girls,” the defensive man said from somewhere behind Niall’s shoulder. “The Cannon family from New York has been staying with us for most of the summer.” When Niall didn’t reply, the man went on with, “Their family is practically American Royalty. Mr. Cannon has made a fortune on the railroads. His daughter, Annamarie, is rumored to be the catch of the year. We’ve become quite friendly.”

  “Lucky for you.” Niall scanned the list of names of men auditioning, then turned to the defensive man. “Your name, sir?” he asked.

  “Ian Archibald.” The defensive man came forward, his hand outstretched. “At your service.”

  Niall took Ian’s hand and shook it, sizing him up as quickly as he could. Ian wasn’t bad-looking with his sandy-brown hair and green eyes. His face was just a bit squat, and he had more of a look of the country bumpkins Niall had grown up with stuffed into a suit rather than the sort of elegance John Dandie had, even lounging in a stiff, wooden chair, as John was now.

  “I see your name is on my list of auditioners, Mr. Archibald,” he said, nodding to the front of the room. “Let’s see how you sing.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ian nodded, then strode eagerly to the front of the room, where David still sat at the piano, ready to accompany.

  Ian leaned in to say something to David, who nodded, then launched into the stilted strains of a tune that had been popular in their fathers’ time. Niall took a deep breath and rested back in his chai
r. This was it. His very first auditions for a show that he had written and would direct and star in. Perhaps it was only a student production at an out-of-the way university few people cared about, but to him, it was the beginning of everything.

  And by the time Ian made it through the first verse of his song, Niall had started to wonder if it were the beginning of a thousand troubles. It wasn’t that Ian couldn’t sing. His voice was passable, if a little pitchy. Ian certainly had confidence, though his manner was confrontational, daring Niall not to enjoy his performance, instead of engaging.

  “Thank you,” Niall said once he was done. “Have a seat, and once we run through everyone’s songs, I’ll call you up to read.”

  Ian nodded, looking a bit disappointed, perhaps that Niall hadn’t praised him or handed him the role on the spot, and headed to the chairs at the back of the room.

  “Michael Hollister,” Niall read the next name on the list.

  A new candidate for a part leapt up from his chair at the back of the room, handing sheet music to David, before taking his place and beginning his song. It was all Niall could do not to wince. The man was terrible. He could barely carry the tune, let alone do justice to the words he was singing. And the next man to audition was just as bad. And the next.

  Niall exchanged a look with John after the fourth off-key, muddy singer to assault their ears. Neither said a word, but their looks conveyed everything. More than a dozen men had come to audition, and while some had the range to play one of the secondary roles, the only one who came close to having the talent to play Siegfried was Ian. And if he were honest, something about Ian Archibald made Niall cringe at the thought of playing opposite him. There was a kiss written into the play, after all.