The Actor and the Earl

by Rebecca Cohen

  David’s eyes narrowed, and he squinted at Sebastian. “Beatrice. The Swan. Late March. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” replied Sebastian, relieved. “I’ve been a few others, but I’m getting a little too old to wear a dress and be convincing.”

  “Alas, time and tide waits for no man.”

  “Unfortunately so.”

  David slapped Sebastian’s back good-naturedly. “Jonah said you were looking for work? I’m afraid the play is fully cast. But if you’re willing, we need help with sorting out props and costumes, and other general dog’s body work.”

  Sebastian agreed readily. The pay was not overwhelming, but at least he’d found a job that had an income, and he would be able to contribute to the household. And although he may never act again, he was working at the theater, which was better than some of the other jobs the city had to offer. Sebastian was told to return the next morning, dressed and ready to perform manual labor, and then sent on his way. He returned to the townhouse with an extra spring in his step, which was quickly quashed when he saw Claire waiting for him, holding a letter.

  Sebastian turned the letter over in his hand, immediately recognizing Anthony’s seal on the back. A small part of him wanted to cast it unread into a fire, but a much larger part desperately wanted to hear what Anthony had to say.

  He took the letter to the parlor, closing the door on Claire as she tried to follow, and whispered his apology to the woodwork. He didn’t want an audience for this.

  The wax seal broke as he slid his finger under it.

  Sebastian,

  I write to ask for your forgiveness, and for you to return home to Crofton Hall. I feel the deepest, heartfelt regret that I have wronged you in such a fashion, and I am haunted by the distress I saw marring your face, knowing I am the one who put it there.

  I miss your company, the time we spend together. I only ask that you give me the chance to redeem myself.

  Anthony

  Sebastian sank into a chair, the letter crumpled in his hand. That settled it. Any last vestiges of hope he’d had of returning to Crofton Hall were gone. He couldn’t spend his days pining after a man who did not love him. Anthony was fond of him, but that was as far as it went, and that was not enough. He should’ve heeded his sister’s warnings, but it was already too late by then. Sebastian knew what he had to do now was to was protect himself from further hurt, to put Anthony behind him and rebuild his life. He walked over to the desk situated in the corner of the room, picked up a quill, and selected a sheet of paper.

  My Dearest Anthony,

  Your words of apology are received with thanks, but more so with sadness, for they confirm what I have known all along. I am to you, despite the months we have spent together, nothing more than a convenience. For me, our arrangement grew into more, but to you, I am but an actor playing a small role in the epic play that is the grand life of Earl Crofton. I have longed for you to return the feelings I have grown as I lay in your arms, but I see now I must put away such hopeless dreams.

  I wish you no ill, my love, but I cannot return to play this charade, as I fear each day my heart will break further until there is little more than a sliver left, and I will fade away.

  At the moment, I do not have the funds to repay the money you paid to have Bronwyn as a wife. I have found work, and would ask you to grant me some time to amass the sum the Hewel family owes you.

  If you do have even the slightest modicum of love for me, I beseech you to leave me in peace to grieve the loss of something I never truly had.

  With my love,

  Sebastian

  Chapter 20

  HE WAS glad to find a set of his old clothes in his room from when he’d stayed at the townhouse before the wedding. Only when he put them on did he realize how much weight he’d lost because of Bronwyn’s corset limiting his appetite. The clothes Anthony’s tailor had made for him had already compensated for the difference. At least he hadn’t needed to sew the waistband of the breeches smaller, even though they hung off his frame in a less than flattering manner.

  Being an actor had made Sebastian conscious of his appearance. He’d lost parts for not being the right fit for a role, but as he left the townhouse, he was thankful that his new job didn’t care about his build or coloring. All he needed to be able to do was follow simple orders and not annoy too many people.

  On arrival, Sebastian was put to work shifting trunks full of items left over from the previous play, with instructions to sort their contents into things that could be used as is or those that would need adapting. There were piles of material and fake weapons next to pieces of wood in various shapes, ranging from simple squares to elaborate lattices. Keeping busy meant his mind wasn’t allowed to wander back to the letter he’d sent the evening before, or the reason behind having to send it. The rest of the theater staff was friendly, and his day flew by, filled with one task after another. On the rare occasion Sebastian found himself with nothing to do, he was soon employed elsewhere, usually after receiving a flagon of beer or something to eat.

  Exhausted in both body and mind, he returned to the townhouse as the sun began to set. Back in his room, he splashed water over his face and washed his hands.

  “I said you did not wish to receive visitors, but he insisted.”

  He turned to see Claire step out of the way to let Edward enter. Of all people, Edward was the last person he expected, or wanted, to see.

  “You are not welcome here.”

  Edward cautiously took a step forward. “Please, listen to what I have to say, and then I will leave.”

  Sebastian turned away. “I’d rather you left.”

  “I know you are angry, but if you have any feelings left for Anthony, let me speak.”

  “All I have is feelings, ones that make me wretched that they are not returned, and ones that make me angry enough to want to strike you. So please do not speak to me of such things.”

  Edward caught his arm, and Sebastian snatched it away. “Do not touch me!”

  “I know you have no reason to believe me, Sebastian, but you are wrong about Anthony. He adores you. I have never seen him this way, never known him to be so distraught. What happened was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” scoffed Sebastian. “It was a mistake you both ended up rolling around on the floor? A mistake that you have spoken to him several times about how I am merely a current infatuation that he would inevitably grow tired of? You must be happy to have been proven right.”

  “No, you have it wrong.”

  “I heard you myself. My sister heard you. But you still deny still it!”

  Edward shook his head. “I do not deny saying such things, but you have taken my intentions wrongly. As long as I have known Anthony, he has flitted from one warm body to the next. He never settles for more than a few months at most. Then he marries you in some ridiculous scheme. I was concerned he would continue to act in the same way he has always done, and where would that have left you?”

  “Oh, please! Do not take me for a fool. You have such great concerns for my welfare that you take it upon yourself to rid me of the blight that is Anthony Crofton by having him yourself?”

  Edward grabbed him by the shoulders, and this time would not let Sebastian shake him off. “While I cannot claim that we have never lain together, what happened that night was a mistake. We were drunk and angry at life, it should not have happened, and even if you had not arrived, it would not have gone any further.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  Letting go of Sebastian, Edward sighed loudly. “I had just learnt that my lover, Marcus, was dead. Anthony has been my friend for longer than any other, and he was the first person I thought to turn to. The pain I feel is unimaginable. Knowing that I will never see my love again hurts more than anything I have ever endured.”

  Sebastian could see that Edward was close to tears, pale and fraught, and his voice was filled with anguish.

  “Anthony was in a melancholy mood,” Edwar
d continued, “he rambled about how he should not have captured you in his plans, how you could only grow to hate him over the years if you were to remain. We were drinking, so tightly wound up in our own pain that we reached out to each other. It was stupid, and it was fleeting. But it was nothing more.”

  “I….” said Sebastian, trailing off as his words tangled in his conflicted thoughts. “I am sorry for your loss, Edward, but Anthony does not have your reasons for what happened.”

  “Please let Anthony come and speak to you. I have never seen him so angry with himself, so ashamed at his actions. Take this advice from a man who has lost his love and can never get him back: let Anthony earn your forgiveness.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes, swallowing back the lump in his throat. Unlike Edward’s lover, Anthony was not dead, and he had the option of giving Anthony one more chance. Something Edward would never have with Marcus. “Tell him to come here after sunset tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Edward. “It will be worthwhile, I promise you.”

  THE heavy rain had made many of the theater’s surfaces slippery, and he had fallen several times, but his pride had been hurt more than his body. David had taken pity on him and ushered him into the wings with instructions to create a set of Roman replica swords and shields from the wood he had sorted the day before. Sebastian set about his task with a small saw and a determination not to think about Anthony. Several hours later, having stopped for a brief dinner comprising a lump of cheese and two bread rolls, he proudly stacked his handiwork safely away under the stage.

  The rain had not relented, and he scurried through the streets back to the townhouse, avoiding the people and puddles as best he could in order to get home quicker. Waiting outside for him, apparently not caring about the rain, was Anthony. Rivulets of water raced over his cloak, his hat keeping the worst of the weather off his face, and he looked achingly attractive as always, even though his eyes were red and his face solemn.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  Sebastian opened the door to the house. “You’d best come in.”

  Not wanting Claire to overhear their conversation, he led Anthony upstairs, neither of them speaking. Once inside Sebastian’s room, Anthony removed his cape, hat, and gloves and placed them on top of a trunk.

  “Are you well?” asked Anthony.

  “I would rather you said what you came to say rather than try to engage in meaningless small talk,” replied Sebastian, taking off his own cloak and throwing it to the floor.

  “I know that I cannot apologize enough times to undo the wrong,” Anthony began, “but if you will let me, I will spend the rest of our lives together in reparation.”

  “And what will you do when it happens again?”

  “I swear it never will.”

  “You ask me to believe you; that Edward’s version is correct, and that it was nothing more than a mix of alcohol and grief?” asked Sebastian.

  “Yes, that is all it was, nothing more. I know I have hurt you. I know I have never treated you how you deserved. But I can make amends, Sebastian, if you let me.”

  Sebastian wrapped his arm around his midriff, as if to comfort himself. “He has been your lover before. And he is just one of many… what happens the next time an old friend arrives full of grief and heartache. Will you comfort them too, in the same way?”

  “No. Please, Sebastian, listen to me! I did not know my own mind. I was so conflicted with having brought you to Crofton Hall, taken over your life, and then the accident… I was so angry with myself that I was not thinking as I should.”

  Anthony moved toward him, stopping only when they were a few inches apart. “I swear to you on my life that it was as Edward said—that it was a mistake. I have castigated myself for it time and time again. He does not hold my heart.”

  Sebastian stared up into Anthony’s eyes. “And who does hold your heart?”

  “That you should need to ask me is as great a sorrow to me as anything in this whole mess.”

  The kiss started as tentative, lips caressing lips, and Sebastian melted into Anthony’s arms. He ignored the little voice in his head that told him to hold back and slow down, and as Anthony guided him back toward his bed, he complied completely. They stripped off their clothes, all the time trying not to break the kiss as they did so.

  Naked, Sebastian lay back on the bed, and Anthony joined him after retrieving something from his coin purse that turned out to be a small bottle of oil. It had only been a few weeks since they’d done this, but as Anthony touched him, Sebastian thought it could have been months by the way his body burned with want. There was nothing slow and sweet about their interaction. Anthony bit and licked his skin, proclaiming Sebastian his between panted breaths.

  Anthony prepared him, quick but thorough, and Sebastian groaned greedily as Anthony entered him. They bucked and rutted against each other, both desperate to reach their release. Anthony came first, Sebastian holding him in place, his hips pistoning as he cried out his own orgasm.

  Afterward, they lay quietly together, Anthony stroking Sebastian and kissing every mole and freckle he could see. “I cannot fully articulate how much I’ve missed you,” he whispered into Sebastian’s shoulder.

  Sebastian hummed, content until Anthony got out of bed. “Where are you going?”

  “Not me—us.”

  “What?”

  “We should get back to Crofton Hall.”

  Hugging the blankets to his chest, Sebastian watched Anthony dress, rolling his hose up each leg and tying them in place. The bottle of oil they’d used lay discarded on the pillow. It caught Sebastian’s eye, and he was hit by a sudden realization. “You came prepared.”

  Anthony fastened his breeches and stepped into his shoes. “What?”

  “The oil. You came here expecting to bed me.”

  “Naturally I hoped we would consummate our reunion.” Anthony winked as he pulled on his doublet. “Now, out of bed. We’ll need to depart soon if we want to get back to the hall in time to grab a few hours’ sleep before breakfast.”

  Sebastian threw back the bedclothes and put on his shift. “Get out!”

  “What?” asked Anthony, confused.

  “I said get out.”

  Anthony moved toward him, reaching out a hand. “Sebastian, what’s wrong?”

  “I thought you had come here for my forgiveness, to show me how you felt. But I was wrong. You came here to restore the status quo, to have me as your convenient bedmate.”

  “No!” shouted Anthony. “I had hoped, yes, that we would be intimate, but it was not my motivation for coming.”

  Sebastian was heading for the door. He flung it open. “I do not believe you. Now get out of my home.”

  He charged away, heading down the corridor and away from Anthony, but Anthony chased after him. “Sebastian!” he called. “Please wait.”

  Ducking into another bedroom, Sebastian locked the door behind him. Anthony hammered on the wood, but Sebastian ignored his demands for him to come out. There was a scuffle outside. Sebastian heard Roger, one of the cook’s sons, a man who had never lost a fight due to his height and build, say, “My mistress wishes you to leave.”

  “You don’t understand. I need to speak to Sebastian.”

  “And he’s making it quite clear that he doesn’t want to speak to you.”

  From the noises outside the door, Anthony was being manhandled away. “I won’t give up, Sebastian,” he called out. “I will not lose you!”

  Sebastian slid down the wall. He wondered if he’d done the right thing by storming away, but right now, as his tears ran down his face, he couldn’t help but think he had.

  Chapter 21

  GETTING out of bed the next morning and going to the theater was the hardest thing Sebastian had done in years. The following two mornings were just as gruesome, but at least the grim London weather reflected Sebastian’s mood. The other workers at the theater were used to the temperamental personalities of actors and
judged that Sebastian was someone who needed to be left alone.

  Sebastian was sitting on the second-floor balcony, trying to find a way to fix a pair of fairy wings to the back of a costume so they could be removed with minimal fuss. A loud sniff made him look up to find a young boy, no older than eight years old, standing in front of him.

  “Are you Sebastian Hewel?” the boy asked, wiping his nose on the sleeve of an already dirty jacket.

  “Yes. Why?”

  The boy thrust a piece of paper at him, and Sebastian accepted it. As soon as the paper had left his hand, the boy ran off. It was not uncommon for children to deliver messages, and as he unfolded the paper, Sebastian expected it to be from Claire about arrangements for supper that evening.

  To his surprise, he found a sonnet written in black ink, and while Sebastian didn’t recognize the handwriting, he certainly recognized the words of Spenser’s Fire and Ice:

  My love is like to ice, and I to fire:

  how comes it then that this her cold so great

  is not dissolv’d through my so hot desire,

  but harder grows, the more I her entreat?

  Or how comes it that my exceeding heat

  is not delayed by her heart frozen cold,

  but that I burn much more in boiling sweat,

  and feel my flames augmented manifold?

  What more miraculous thing may be told

  that fire, which all things melts, should harden ice:

  and ice which is congealed with senseless cold,

  should kindle fire by wonderful device?

  Such is the pow’r of love in gentle mind

  that it can alter all the course of kind.

  Sebastian’s breath caught as he read the words, knowing the message could only have come from Anthony. His first instinct was to scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it to one side, but he couldn’t. He read it several times, then carefully folded it back up and slipped it into his coin purse.