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The war has been over nearly a year when Laurence looks around and realizes he has nothing to do.
One could argue that he has been doing nothing very productive, in fact, since the end of the war. But he was still active – he helped Tharkay set up and manage his new estate, assisted Temeraire in hiring secretaries, assistants for his political work. He wrote what seems like a thousand letters, attended various parties to fundraise for the Corps, for veterans, wounded dragons, orphans -
And now it is early summer. Tharkay, supposedly bitten by some wanderlust, recently declared a trip to Denmark. But he was oddly shifty and evasive when Laurence offered to accompany him, so Laurence dropped the subject. Perhaps the man desires space; more likely, Laurence thinks Tharkay is attending some secret business of his own, perhaps government work. Supposedly he has retired, but Tharkay is not the type of man to settle easily into a life of leisure.
And Laurence understands. But Temeraire is down in London, and will soon be flying all over the isles to speak with different personages. Laurence could have accompanied him, but the thought of all those politicians spurred him to decline.
So instead he is at Tharkay's estate, alone except for the servants, and he finds himself with nothing to do.
He is technically managing things in Tharkay's absence, except there is little indeed to be done; the property was largely self-sufficient before Tharkay's arrival, and the man has been an easygoing landlord. He spends a few days walking, writing letters, and reading from the varied selection in the library, which is Tharkay's one true indulgence; he even occupies a long afternoon struggling miserably through a book on Chinese poetry, which at least sends him deeply asleep that night.
But Laurence, much like Tharkay, is not someone meant for inactivity. He longs for company; but all his dearest friends are in the service. He thinks of visiting his family; but George and Lady Allendale will be in London as well, this time of year. And the prospect of suffering through another hundred introductions with weaseling politicians, all looking to capitalize on the fame of Napoleon's captor -
So Laurence stays. Until, one morning as he's lazing in bed (with no particular reason to get up), he's startled by a very loud thump outside. Shouting.
The familiar flutter of wingbeats prevents this from being alarming; the noise dies down, so he stays where he is, appreciating the orange-gold daylight rising through the window.
Then his door bursts open.
“Goodness, you have grown lazy,” says a brisk voice.
Laurence jolts upright. Heedless of his half-dressed state, Jane pushes into the room, ignoring a flustered servant trying to stop her. Laurence is already rising, waving the latter away.
“I think you're getting fat,” observes Jane as he dresses. She tilts her head, considering him; the look in her eyes is more appreciative than not.
“My doctor will be delighted,” says Laurence dryly; he lost a great deal of weight in those last years of the war. “You might have wrote ahead.”
“Well, that would require knowing we were coming,” Jane says. “I am at my wit's end, Laurence. I don't suppose these servants know how to make a proper breakfast? They seemed skittish to me. Let us eat and I'll tell you the whole.”
Over a plate of eggs Jane explains. “You would not think an estate would be such work,” she says, which is certainly not a sentiment Laurence ever expected to hear. “I have always thought these men and women of society quite lazy, you know; but the amount of work it takes! I'd more easily manage a battalion, and have done. It seems every smallest decision needs input. I'd weep for a proper steward; I had to sack my last, after he kept whinging on about how I needed skirts. And then there is Emily - “
“Emily?”
“Well, I must teach her, shouldn't I? She'll inherit the blasted mess when I die, which like as not might be tomorrow, with all the fighting starting up with Spain. I have no qualms leaving her with dear Excidium; but that vipers nest of Society is a different beast.” After a moment's thought, she adds, “Though I still believe it daft of you to give her a governess during the war, Laurence; but I'll admit that woman had nerves of steel.”
“I am sure you will adjust to the work in time,” Laurence says, and means it; Jane has always struck him as frightfully competent in all respects. He has no doubt she will manage fine with politics too, although she'll always appeal more to the practical crowd, like Wellesley, who remains both infuriated and enamored with her.
“Yes, yes; that is all very well. But there are things that must be managed now; did you know you must arrange to clean the moat every year? Why do I have a moat? And do not get me started on the ridiculous expectations about hosting! Hosting, while I still command the Corps! And of course if I turn up my nose at certain parties – or Lord forbid, miss them for genuine work – suddenly I have insulted some nobody-Lord who will no longer vote to help the dragons; it is such a fuss. So that is the gist of it - I would dearly appreciate your help.”
“I am certainly at your disposal; but I am still not sure what you're asking.”
“To come down for a few months and help manage it all – at least until I can find a halfway competent steward, who won't sniff about finding me a husband, or faint over Excidium's meals. Certainly I can pay you, if that helps matters.”
Laurence is taken aback. “That is wholly unnecessary, Jane, I assure you. I would be glad to help in any way possible. And as for funds, Temeraire - “
Here Laurence hesitates. He has sizeable funds of his own, now, in the bank; but he has spent life expecting to live off his prizes from the Navy, and is admittedly a little shamed to admit that Temeraire's work is their only income, with Tenzing's generosity lurking always in his mind.
“Well, in that case I suppose you can buy anything you like with my accounts; goodness knows what I'm meant to do with the money,” she says blithely, ignoring his horror. “Can you do it, then? I have more liberty to manage things from home, these days, with so much damnable administrative work; but I am forever flying all around Creation. It would be a great help.”
Laurence mulls this over. “I have promised to look after Tenzing's properties as well; he won't return until Autumn.”
“Then we can hop you back and forth on the couriers; there are always a hundred lazing about these days, bringing reports from the coverts.”
Laurence thinks about the infrequency of his work here. Concedes, “Very well; but I hope you will expect no miracles, Jane. Despite your impression, I am sorry to say I have lost all appetite for Society.”
“I know,” Jane tells him. “I shall take it as a sign of character growth. Let's go see Excidium, then.”
“Hmm,” Excidium says, leaning his broad head down to nudge Laurence. “So, we are bringing you to Jane's nest? Will you be giving her an egg then?”
“Maybe later,” says Jane while Laurence sputters uselessly. “Although it would have to be soon, if you're interested for Temeraire; I am hardly a spring chicken.”
“Ah,” says Laurence.
“I never think much of humans as eggs,” Excidium confides, “But they are quite entertaining as little children; do you think Emily might breed soon?” he adds, apparently inspired.
“...No,” says Laurence, desperately hoping to be accurate.
“I think she's fond of that Demane fellow,” says Jane. “Now, let us be off, we can gab in the air.”
Jane explains that she had a very fine steward who covered things the first year or two after her entitlement. The man had been a disabled ex-aviator, who didn't bat an eye at Excidium's goings, nor at Jane's sometimes unlady-like behavior. But he's retired down to Wales for some family concerns, and ever since Jane has been cursed by incompetence.
“Not so easy to employ old aviators, now; with the ferals running amok we are much in demand,” she notes. “Of which I am glad; but it is a damned nuisance. The last steward I tried spent weeks sighing and pursing his lips, trying to get me to wear dresses; not even for some event, if you please, but just around my own property! As if I should care about scandalizing the squirrels. The one prior to that, Excidium tells me tried to exorcize him; and the one before that was simply a fool. I do not have time these days to be running around after servants and fretting about castle repairs,” adds the Admiral of the Air. “A castle – as though I need a castle - “
“I quite like it,” says Excidium. “It is so much larger than your old quarters, and you deserve it.”
“It is damned drafty,” says Jane. “And even worse, old Glynn – my old steward, you know – he was in the middle of redesigning the east wing when he left; tore it apart, and never built anything, so now the place is all rot and mold... I have never been the type for hosting, but I do understand the importance of politicking; during the early days I held a very nice dinner on your mother's recommendation. Now I could not invite anyone to see it without blushing. Not so much for the mess, but certainly the smell...”
This, sadly, is no exaggeration. They arrive to find the west half of the duchy's main residence is in good enough upkeep, and mostly covered in fine decor; ignoring the odd stuffed, lopsided boar's-head; a quixotic collection of glass-blown ducks down one hall; and a series of sad paintings Laurence suspects must have been created by the last owner themselves.
New duchy's were, generally, only granted to members of the royal family; Jane's rise both scandalized and impressed the country. The previous property-owner had been accused of some sort of foreign mischief during Laurence's time in China; his bloodline was thus attainted, and all property and fortune seized.
“So you see the problem” she says, while he grimaces at the crumbling bulwark of the walls, half-demolished and exposed to the sun under a broken roof. “Glynn left the designs around somewhere. But I am too busy to be homemaking.”
“Of course,” Laurence agrees, already imagining the tasks; finding appropriate laborers, picking the stone, re-laying the foundation – it will be weeks of work if they have a miracle, and all positions lined up; more likely to be months. “Best to get it done before winter.” He finds himself looking forward to the prospect more than he expected.
Much as Jane disdains the work of a duchess, she certainly understands the scope of it. At least her books are not in terrible order, though she adds that she's been purchasing quite a few things out-of-pockets for the Corps; he resigns himself to a thorough inspection anyway.
Apparently he makes a few too many comments about the design, because she swiftly makes good on her threat to give him full access to her funds, too, with instructions to decorate as he pleases.
“Do not make that face – I need the place set up to impress others, not myself; certainly I do not spend much time here anyway. I am sure you know better what impresses these lordly types. Only, do not let Excidium have any say in the matter, if you please; he has developed a horrible obsession with covering things in copper.”
She also sends him a full, very fine suit one evening, apparently as thanks; and again reiterates the insistence that he make free use of her purse against all protests.
“Good lord, Laurence; I have faith you will not beggar me. And it is convenient, isn't it, when you're handling the money anyway? Don't consider it another moment.”
Laurence does his best to prevent Jane plying him with luxuries at every chance; she barely seems to notice, waving away his protests with blithe disregard and regularly sending him fine wines, new boots. Once she sends an admittedly tasteful pocket-watch, with the note, it ought to satisfy Temeraire without being too garish. And how can he argue that?
So he works diligently, feeling it is the least he can do. He is pleased to see real progress quite swiftly; he's able to hire a few Yellow Reapers to break up the ground and tear the crumbling stone of the east-end, after which Laurence enters negotiations with a mason in town. Given the scope of the project, though, he will probably need to look further for more men.
Excidium is far more interested in the renovations than Jane; the next time they stop by the castle he plies Laurence with questions, insisting a little wistfully that the rooms should be all-around glass, so he can see Jane always. He is only removed from this notion when Laurence explains how easily hail or storms could wreck such a structure, probably injuring all those inside.
“But it would be quite nice to keep an eye on Jane's enemies,” he sighs, perhaps revealing the real motive.
“Does she have many enemies, these days? It seems all of England regards her as a hero.”
“ Oh – there are many lords who get ridiculous about women. Things have improved, you know; people often refused to speak with my first captain at all, and always condescended to her, unless I growled. But I think Jane is so successful it scares the others. Last week some general said they should cut off her sword-arm, and thus force her to retire.”
Laurence regards the dragon with both shock and confusion. “You do not seem concerned,” he says, because it's easier than reacting to the vile notion.
But as he looks, he realizes this is correct. Excidium's old age has left him more mellow than many dragons of Laurence's acquaintance, but he's still startled to see a dragon so blasé about their captain being threatened.
Excidium tilts his head. “Why should I be concerned ? Jane can defend herself against idiots like that,” he dismisses. His great, golden eye turns its considering gaze upon Laurence. “I can understand why Temeraire fusses over you, though. From the things Jane has told me, you are an awful lot of trouble.”
Laurence tries not to be offended.
“But I suppose we will help take care of you, now,” says Excidium with a note of satisfaction. “So I am sure that will change.”
Weeks pass in this manner. Jane is not always at her estate, of course; often she's flying to lobby this or that politician, meet with leaders at coverts, speak with new captains... Even though he rarely goes into active combat these days, Excidium gets plenty of exercise.
But there are still couriers flying to and fro every day, not to mention the occasional enterprising feral. Laurence easily finds his way back to Scotland two or three times a week; after months of concentrated efforts Tharkay's lands need little attention by comparison to the mess of Jane's finances, the redecorating, the reconstruction -
It is pleasant to be useful again, in some small away. In his letters to Temeraire Laurence mentions that he's visiting Jane, but doesn't bother with the details; Temeraire tends to get excited about things like interior design, and Laurence dreads to imagine what type of suggestions he might make.
Jane is rarely there, although certainly Excidium's assistance is helpful when she is – the dragon is also much more concerned with their personal finances. Of course, when Jane is around Laurence spends much of his time in the bedroom, too; he regrets they have thoroughly scandalized all the admiral's servants. But then, if they are so easily shocked, he supposes they would not have lasted long anyway.
Although two of the servants were brought over from Nottinghamshire, probably at generous urging from his mother; Laurence blushes badly, one morning, to be found in the admiral's quarters by a disapproving maid who tended him as a child.
Laurence very much hopes this woman was sent over due to some falling out with his family; he does not need his mother urging him to marry.
But all in all Jane's request proves a pleasant diversion for the summer. Jane also often brings news from the coverts, and once drops by for the night with half a formation of dragons; Captain St. Germaine flirts outrageously with Laurence all through the dinner, to the great amusement of her fellows.
The construction picks up pace once they manage to arrange more workers, and Laurence spends a few pleasant evenings in town also, haggling for decorative pieces and commissioning artists. Unlike men and women of high Society, crafts-people are unlikely to recognize him, and Laurence realizes he may have secluded himself too much at Tharkay's estate; he starts to remember why he enjoyed frequent company in his navy days.
The summer passes fast, and autumn approaches.
Laurence is inside, pouring over ledgers, when a lengthy shadow falls over the house. Far larger than would be cast by any courier. He glances out the window, freezes, and stands abruptly.
Tharkay is already sliding off Temeraire's leg when Laurence reaches them. In the distance Laurence spots Excidium lazily flying their way as Temeraire scoops him up. “There you are,” reproaches Temeraire. “No one told me you were gone for two whole days. I thought you must be in town.”
“My dear, I am sorry; it should have occurred to me to leave a note. But I have been back and forth thrice a week to tend the estate.”
“For which I thank you,” says Tenzing in an odd tone. His gaze sweeps Laurence up and down, taking in the new coat, the boots, and finally lingering on several conspicuous markings at his throat; Laurence flushes. “ - I see you have enjoyed yourself in our absence.”
“Well I suppose it's good you had Excidium with you,” says Temeraire, who seems to share Lady Allendale's sentiment that he needs a minder. As the Longwing approaches, Temeraire thanks him.
“Well, you have watched Emily for me, so it is fair,” Excidium says. Laurence decides he should be offended, after all. “How have you been? Jane says you caused some fuss down in Bristol.”
“Well it is not my fault they all started screaming,” says Temeraire, disgruntled. “I just wanted a closer look at the construction of that new ship, and the city is perfectly accustomed to dragons anyway, so just because I am larger than a Grayling...”
Tharkay approaches as the dragons complain about ridiculous, easily-frightened humans. “I suppose Scotland must bore you,” he comments after hearing Laurence's explanation.
“Bored, no; but certainly I prefer not to be idle.”
“I confess,” says Tharkay, “When we heard you had run off to the admiral, I wondered whether you had eloped.”
“With no warning, even to Temeraire?”
“Certainly he would not let such an occasion pass without festivities; but perhaps that would be an explanation, in itself. Of course I cannot really imagine the Admiral marrying anyone.”
“I did offer, once,” says Laurence without thinking.
After a moment Tharkay replies, “I see.”
And Laurence imagines he does. It was a romantic thought, from when Laurence still held some lingering dream of normality – when he thought to cling to some happiness by satisfying society's idea of dull domesticity.
Well, Laurence supposes he has become quite domestic. But it is a relaxed life spent flying back between Scotland and Jane's estate, debating with dragons, and wandering the country-side. Which seems suddenly much better than some small house with a faceless wife.
To stay with Tharkay, also – that is its own pleasure.
Tharkay looks lost in thought, and Laurence regrets mentioning the subject; he has never broached the name of Sara Maden, and Tharkay never explained what drove them apart, but it is surely rude to remind the man of his own failed prospects. “Will you be staying the night?”
“ - No. I think I shall return soon.” Tharkay's gaze turns toward Excidium, Jane, and Temeraire. “ - Do you intend to stay?”
“I suspect Jane will yet need someone to wrangle her affairs; but I will return for now.”
“Then I am happy to have you – for as long as you would like to join us.”
But Tharkay does not sound particularly pleased. For the first time, Laurence wonders if he's outstayed his welcome.
Tharkay buries himself in the library upon return, and does not seem inclined to share stories of his travels. This isn't wholly surprising; Laurence assumes his work to be of the more secretive type, and drops his questioning.
He spends the next few days with Temeraire, instead, who is always happy to talk at length about absolutely anything.
He shares quite a bit of gossip. Iskierka is hassling him about another egg, an idea that excites and terrifies the local breeders simultaneously; Laurence sympathizes. Maximus has also had an egg by a Parnassian, and is all puffed about its size; Lily cracked a spur biting a Cauchador Real, so she's been sulkily pulled from duty until it heals.
Of his political work, Temeraire mostly complains. From his perspective all of Parliament shouts too much, except when the dragons try arguing back, and then it is all whinging about barbarity and threats and how This Will Not Stand.
“Even when we do not threaten them,” Temeraire complains, “However much they would deserve it.”
But Tharkay rarely joins these talks, even though at the start of summer, and all through spring and winter, he was ever at Laurence's side. Eventually Laurence seeks him out.
He finds Tharkay in the mews, contemplating his newest acquisition – a northern goshawk of startling white plumage, bartered apparently during Tharkay's time in Russia. The small head, perpetually hunched figure, and beady golden eyes make it look constantly suspicious.
“You have been scarce of late,” Laurence says, uncomfortably aware that it is not his place to question the man's comings and goings. “Is something wrong, Tenzing?”
Tharkay feeds the bird bits of meat, not looking at Laurence. “I have only been caught by my own thoughts; an unfortunate weakness. How did you enjoy Jane's company?”
“Very well; though she was often away.”
“I suppose that is no hindrance to you,” say Tharkay, quite rightly; Laurence enjoys Jane's presence, as both friend and lover, but he was there for business. “But I confess myself taken aback. She is scarcely the type of company I would expect you to favor.”
“I thought you liked Jane,” says Laurence, unhappily surprised. “You spoke very well of her during the war,” and indeed Admiral Roland provided one of the character references that helped him win his suit.
Tenzing presses his lips together. “She is very practical, and a good admiral,” he begrudges. Nothing more.
Laurence struggles to remember moments he's seen the two interact; perhaps he only imagined they got along well? “I think, if you spoke with her more, you will find her possessing of many good qualities, and - “
“I do not doubt it,” Tharkay snaps. Then he's closed up the mew, and leaves before Laurence can say anything further.
Laurence stares after him. Perhaps it is nothing to do with Jane, after all, he consoles; Tharkay simply seems to be in poor mood.
The hawk screams at him.
Tharkay's sullen temper doesn't alleviate. He is never – rude, precisely. Just very short sometimes. And if ever Laurence convinces him to relax a few minutes – to give one of his rare smiles, or a soft glance – it is like Tharkay realizes what he's done, and re-commits to misery.
Laurence misses the quiet warmth of his company. But more importantly, he's worried. Tharkay can be mercurial in his moods, but he's never seen the man hold onto melancholy this long. Even in China, with his hands all mangled, Tharkay faced the difficult months of recovery with equanimity. What could be bothering him now?
Laurence starts to fear it may be simple distaste – that Tharkay regrets his generous offer, made mostly for Temeraire's political career; that perhaps Tharkay finds he prefers solitude after all. Laurence even writes to his brother, inquiring in vague terms about the possibility of settling upon one of his farms.
But when Excidium suddenly drops by two weeks later, he starts to contemplate another choice.
Because Temeraire is very happy to see the other dragon; though of course the personable dragon has many friends, one of the reasons Tharkay invited them is because there are no other dragons in the area, and they needed a local creature to run for Parliament.
Many wealthy men spend half their lives on some country or city estate, far from home; and Temeraire travels so much anyway. Tharkay has little need of Laurence these days; perhaps he would be better served to take over as Jane's steward officially, with Temeraire visiting from time to time. It is a thought that aches, but Laurence prefers it to becoming a burden on a much-loved friend.
Excidium and Temeraire immediately curl around each other to gossip; Excidium brags that Emily is now first-lieutenant on Laeticia, and has just gotten herself a very colorful tattoo (oh, dear). Temeraire, of course, takes this as a compliment to himself; soon they're exchanging boasts while Jane rolls her eyes at them.
“Not to say I'm not proud, myself; she has done quite well,” she confides. “But Excidium is turning into a proper braggart now that she's around more. Better than the opposite, I suppose; I'm glad to know he'll do well if I get bloodied up tomorrow. Now, what has you so grim? If it is a bad time for a visit, only say-so; I hope you will not stand on ceremony for us.”
“Of course not,” says Laurence automatically, then tries to apologize; Jane waves him off. “It is just – perhaps I ought to fetch Tenzing; I am sure he will be glad to see you.”
Laurence then remembers Tharkay's odd reaction to the admiral. But Roland just says, “Oh, alright then,” and turns to add her own reminder that Emily beat two men in a duel last week – and of course she was not invited to the duel, but she did end it, which is rather impressive anyway -
Laurence doesn't go far; he finds Tharkay at the front of the house, watching this commotion through the windows. “I hope we have not disturbed you,” Laurence says, taken aback. “Will you join us?”
Tharkay eyes him with a look Laurence can't place. “A visit so soon,” he says. “Are you going back with her, then?”
Laurence hesitates. “I suppose she would not mind.”
Tharkay's expression doesn't twitch. “I pray you will reconsider; and not only because I would lose your company. I think such a change will not have the effect you intend.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“...I am sorry to tell you this,” says Tharkay, after a pause. “It brings me no pleasure, but you ought to know; I was in Norwich covert recently, meeting with some of Arkady's old group, and saw Admiral Roland absconding with some young lieutenant. I fear they are having some affair.”
Laurence regards him blankly.
He has known, of course, Jane has other lovers; she's never made any attempts to hide it. He looks out the window, where Jane lounges against Excidium's side, both deep in conversation with Temeraire.
“I appreciate your concern,” he says, finally realizing that Tharkay has entirely mistaken his intentions. “But I am well aware that Jane has no desire to marry me, nor commit herself in any way - “
And then, before Laurence can explain further, Tharkay flings open the door and stalks outside.
“Oh, there you are,” says Jane, looking at Tharkay with a faint frown. “I received your last letter, about the path to Turkey; now, what has got you in such a snit? I have received warmer reprimands.”
“I thought the part about how much the Lords hate you was funny,” Excidium offers.
“You've been having sex with Laurence,” Tharkay accuses.
Laurence sputters; he knows this is hardly a secret, but that does not mean one is supposed to discuss it. Temeraire peers down at them with interest.
“Yes? Are you you ready to explain how I've offended you?” says Jane, not sounding like she minds in the slightest. “It is rather cold to not even give me notice, if I have managed to give insult.”
“And you have no expectations of marriage?” Tharkay insists.
“What, has Will become some virgin maid when I wasn't looking?”
“He is quite pretty; but you need to get him better clothes,” Excidium advises Temeraire.
“I have tried, but he never cooperates,” is the disgruntled reply.
Laurence doesn't even know what to say. Whyever is Tharkay so incensed on his behalf? Of all people in the world, Laurence would not expect him to sneer at an unconventional relationship. Or, for that matter, to pearl-clutch over Laurence's non-existent virtue.
“I really do not believe this is your concern,” Laurence tries.
He is roundly ignored.
“Whyever would we want to marry?” Roland asks, bemused.
“You don't even love him,” Tharkay accuses.
“Well, you said nothing about love,” Jane replies. “Of course I love him, as I do Excidium, and Emily; but that is not what you mean. I have never understood these romantic notions – sex is quite nice, but it is not some sort of magical connection. Sleep with him yourself, if you like, it would hardly bother me.”
Laurence thinks, privately, that perhaps he should be consulted on that matter first. But Tharkay is focused wholly on Jane now.
“And I cannot understand you; I have tried sex with men, with women, and it is always unsatisfying. To have someone with you – a companion for life, who you might know intimately – that is far superior. If Laurence chose you, if you married, it would wound me; but I could accept it as his choice. But if you will not even respect him enough, for a proper acknowledgement of your relations – “
Jane snorts. “A 'companion for life' – dear fellow, I scarcely want to picture it,” she says. “Sounds quite invasive. Excidium is all the company I need.”
“Do you not suppose,” Laurence says, “That I might have some say on any of this?”
“Would you like to talk about whether you are inclined to have sex with men?” Jane asks, with genuine interest. “And if so, Will, I must say I am disappointed; we could have have been much more creative.”
Laurence reddens.
“...I am sorry to have said anything,” says Tenzing. He deflates, looking uncharacteristically tired, even a little uncertain; it hurts to know that Laurence caused it. “I only meant – you are too damn generous, sometimes, and I only fear you will let others abuse that. Pray give it no more thought.”
“That would be very difficult, when I remain confused,” Laurence says. “And I cannot in good conscience ignore anything that pains you. What exactly is it you want?”
“That is the question,” says Jane. “You are an invert, but don't want to sleep with him, is that it? I suppose that is one way around the laws.”
Tharkay presses his lips, shooting Jane a narrow glance full of unspoken irritation. Laurence has a very hard time imagining Tharkay penning indignant letters on his behalf – for the thought he'd been slighted, romantically! But then Tharkay has always been hard to parse. “Fine, yes, an 'invert' - if you like,” he concedes briefly. More out of a desire, Laurence suspects, to end the speculation.
Laurence finds it very unpleasant to have all his assumptions shaken apart – something that has occurred with increasing regularity since Temeraire entered his life, and apparently did not cease with retirement. As Laurence is grappling with this bizarre explanation for Tharkay's behavior, Temeraire re-enters the conversation.
“Well I do not see the problem at all,” he complains. “Admiral Roland wants to mate, is all; I have mated with Iskierka, and I certainly do not like her – though I do not mean to compare, as you are much more pleasant,” he tells the admiral earnestly.
“I will take that as a compliment,” says Jane.
“Yes, of course it is. And it seems Tharkay wants company, and not sex; and Laurence likes you both perfectly well, and of course we meant to keep living with Tharkay anyway. So whatever are you fighting about?” Temeraire sniffs. “Why must humans be so possessive with their mates - can you not share?”
It should be noted that everyone present pauses, a moment, to appreciate the irony of a dragon advocating such a thing as sharing. Temeraire alone looks oblivious to the irony, but it only emphasizes his point.
“...I have no desire to suggest,” says Tharkay, after a moment, “that our friendship is – in any way based on such feelings as... I dearly regret if I have cause you any alarm. I can only ask you to - “
“I believe this would all be more efficient if you both gave me a chance to speak,” Laurence interjects. Tharkay pauses, then nods.
Laurence takes a moment to marshal his thoughts. “I cannot be sure I understand your sentiments; but I will say this. Years ago, I dreamed of finding a wife, buying a plot of land, and living quietly together after the war; but I no longer desire that. Instead when I envision the future, I am with you and Temeraire; I cannot imagine anything more desirable.” The next part is rather harder, and he blushes to say it in front of both Jane and Excidium: “If you should term that affection romantic, then I will not gainsay you; it certainly eclipses anything I have ever felt. And I like to think I have learned enough not to reject that, only because you are a man.”
Tharkay looks at Laurence like he's never seen him before. It reminds him strangely of that night in the Taklamakan- the hot desert air, the moonlight in his face. The feeling that everything is changing.
“I suppose that is all very well,” say Excidium, unconcernedly stretching his wings. “But even though it was quite funny, I will have to step on you if you write any more notes calling Jane a slattern, Mr. Tharkay.”
Laurence is appalled; Tharkay agrees this is perfectly fair.
Once it is established that no one means to marry, Tharkay is markedly warmed to Jane; Jane, for her part, remains exasperated with all of them, and most interested in whether Laurence can help sort a few more domestic matters, please, because her newest hire decided to try stealing all the silver. She found him pinned under Excidium's curious claw at three in the morning, screaming to wake the dead.
Some prodding and awkward conversations later establish that Tharkay does not give a damn who Laurence has sex with, actually; it was more his fondness for Jane that troubled the man.
Laurence supposes he can understand that. He has gained many intimate friendships since the start of the war, many now more dear to him than more long-standing acquaintances from the navy; but Tharkay is uniquely precious to him as well. Settling down with him at the war – knowing that he might sometimes wander, but would always return – that satisfied Laurence more than anything else. And it feels like Tenzing can pierce straight to his soul with one look; that he knows Laurence, down to his most private and hidden inclinations, and loves him anyway. This sentiment is mutual, and Laurence was wholly earnest in what he said; he can imagine no future now that does not include Tenzing.
He restates this sentiment as they fly back. Seated together upon Temeraire's broad neck, Tenzing takes his hand. “However odd the form of my desires, all the world may still judge you, Laurence. If you never marry, if you stay...“
“Then we shall endure it together.”
“And I will squash anyone who gives you trouble,” Temeraire calls back to them. “I am glad you have sorted this out, Laurence. But does this mean if Jane gives you an egg, you will all three raise it together? Only I do not really understand how human families organize such a thing.”
“I do not think that is likely to happen, my dear.”
“Why, but I smelled it; though maybe the egg can just stay with us until it is old enough for the Corps,” Temeraire decides. “Roland is quite busy, she keeps saying.”
Tharkay and Laurence look at each other. “...Well,” says Tharkay after a moment. “Congratulations, Will; I think you have certainly found a new way to occupy us for the foreseeable future.”