St. Vincent - 37. Chapter 37

March 11, 1797

Chartley woke up the next morning in a playful mood. They’d spent the entire day and night in bed, alternating between fucking, eating, and sleeping. He’d watched Granger’s exhaustion fade away until it vanished, and not just the physical exhaustion, but the emotional exhaustion as well. In a way, he felt as if he were a doctor, and his sole mission was to cure Granger’s malaise. He rolled over on top of Granger, waking him up.

“Ugh,” Granger grunted, having been roused from a sound sleep by all of Chartley’s weight suddenly landing on his body. Any potential protestations on his part were silenced when he felt Chartley’s big dick pressed against his own morning erection.

“Time to wake up,” Chartley cooed seductively in his ear. Granger made to pull his legs back to welcome Chartley inside him yet again, but Chartley pinned him down and spread the lanolin onto Granger’s cock. “My turn.”

Granger was surprised at that, since Chartley hadn’t really shown any real interest in being fucked. He’d done damn near everything else, but he hadn’t seemed to want Granger to penetrate him. He lay there, watching this amazing man lower himself down onto Granger’s throbbing dick. “Good, very good,” Granger said, to encourage him.

He had expected that Chartley would be inexperienced because of his seeming reluctance to get fucked, but he took Granger’s dick with no trouble at all, and began undulating up and down, gently at first, with a look of bliss on his face. “Oh yes. Oh yes,” Chartley said in time to his own movements. “God, this is wonderful. Wonderful.” Granger stared at him in wonder, enjoying the feel of his ass as it slid up and down on his shaft, seemingly pulsating as it did. It was almost as if he were a spectator, watching himself fuck Chartley. But slowly Granger began to get into the same pattern as Chartley, and began to move with him, slowly joining him both physically and mentally, so that when they finally came, they did so together, in one spectacular orgasm.

After he was spent, Chartley collapsed on top of Granger, and just as Chartley was perceptive of Granger’s feelings and needs, so Granger was in tune with Chartley’s emotions. He hugged Chartley tightly to him, smashing his cum between them, and stroked Chartley’s back affectionately. He could literally feel the rush of emotions in Chartley, the feeling of ecstasy, mixed with some anguish and guilt. Unfortunately, those latter two emotions seemed to get stronger as the former faded. “What is it?” Granger finally asked.

“Nothing,” Chartley lied, trying to dismiss Granger’s inquiry.

“Peter,” Granger said, using his Christian name, “is it to be only one way, where I must trust you, but you cannot trust me?”

He sighed, which surprised Granger, since Granger himself was normally loath to let other people see him do that. “I do not do that very often.”

“Yet you are very good at it,” Granger teased.

“Thank you.”

“If I were to interpret your reaction,” Granger began, sounding quite scientific, “I would have to say that you were suddenly reminded of a man with whom you had done that, and that the memory had bothered you.”

“You are indeed a sage, George Granger. Do we have a bath planned for this morning?”

“I have an unfortunate character flaw,” Granger said as he stroked Chartley’s back. “Now that you have made me curious, this will cloy at me until you explain it to me.”

“Yet you are the one who asked me,” Chartley said. He watched Granger’s brows narrow, and realized that he would have to explain himself, even though he didn’t want to. “I cannot do that unless I really care for a person.”

“You mean you cannot let another man fuck you unless you love him?” Granger teased, trying to keep Chartley in a better mood. He could sense how hard this was for Chartley, to open up to him, so he was doing his best to make it easier.

“Something like that,” Chartley groused.

“So you’re unhappy about this because you don’t really love me?” Granger asked. He chuckled at Chartley’s reaction, at having him cornered into admitting his true feelings for Granger.

“I didn’t say that either,” Chartley said, pretending to be gruff. A knock on the door interrupted them, and they broke apart.

Winkler walked in, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering smell of sex in the room. “Good morning, sir, my lord.”

“Good morning, Winkler,” Granger said cheerfully. “I think we’ll have a bath.”

“A wise idea, sir,” Winkler said. “I’ve already had them get the pools ready.”

“He plans ahead,” Granger said to Chartley. Winkler smiled at Granger, happy to see his captain in a good mood. He’d been through so much lately that he’d lost much of his normal charm. It was nice to see it restored.

Winkler left them; they got out of bed and put on the bathing robes, then made their way down to the pools. They started in the soapy tub this time, and began to wash each other off. Granger explored Chartley’s body, the body of a real man, relishing his hairy legs and thick calves, and the matt of hair on his chest that he loved to snuggle into when he slept. He led Chartley into the rinsing pool and they floated there, drifting together, then apart, then together again.

“So are you committed to another man, and it is guilt that you feel when you are with me?” Granger asked. He got a dirty look from Chartley for that, because Chartley had been hoping that the subject had been dropped.

“No. I have no commitments to anyone at the moment.”

Granger moved toward him seductively, but when he got close, he playfully dunked Chartley, who rose up from the water spluttering. Granger laughed, and then tried to get away, but Chartley lunged at him and dunked him as well. They were acting like boys, but they were men, a thing that became clear when they paused from their wrestling to realize they were both erect again. Chartley pinned Granger down, and sat in his lap, lining up Granger’s cock as he did. He lowered himself down, lucky that there was still enough lanolin, and some of Granger’s seed, to lubricate them. They said nothing as their bodies moved in unison, but their eyes were locked together, and it was through those visual organs that they communicated. Granger felt his orgasm building, and then he came, never breaking his gaze with Chartley, letting him see the paroxysms of joy as his orgasm rolled over him. He reached down and stroked Chartley’s big dick, bringing him off as well. It was as much a spiritual bonding experience as a sexual one. And this time, Chartley didn’t feel bad, or guilty, or anguished.

“If we are to make it to Portsmouth, we had better be on our way, had we not?” Chartley asked.

Granger nodded. Chartley hadn’t revealed who this other man was, or what had happened, but Granger knew that he would, eventually, so he left it alone. They ate breakfast, and then mounted their horses. Winkler and Jeffers looked at Granger dubiously; both of them would have been more comfortable in a carriage. Granger ignored them, deciding that the exercise would do them good. Besides, he’d been at sea for so long, riding a horse was a bit of a novelty. Granger was dressed more casually for the ride, wearing some of his sea-going clothing, and that helped to make him feel very relaxed and at ease.

It was chilly when they left, but as the morning wore on, the sun came out, and the day became glorious. They arrived at Norwood, and Granger was inspired. He turned off the main road, following the crude map he’d made. “And where are we going now?” Chartley asked.

“My father gave me 300 acres here. I thought we would inspect it.” They rode along, observing the farms and the village, until they reached a large, dilapidated building. “What is this place?”

“Looks like an old nunnery,” Chartley said. “I’m not sure it’s safe for a heathen like you to go in there, George.”

“I’m not sure if it’s safe, period,” Granger said, eying the structure with disdain.

They dismounted, and began wandering about the place, all of them intrigued except Winkler. He was certain that a spider or serpent was hiding in the place, and would leap out and attack him. They were interrupted by the sound of a horse, so Granger exited the building to see who had arrived.

An older man, probably in his 40s, came riding up to them and pulled his horse up. It was not a polite gesture. “This is private property,” he announced.

“And you are?” Granger asked.

“I’m John Bowen. I’m the caretaker of these lands,” he said.

“Just this structure, or the land surrounding it?” Granger asked, keeping the man in suspense as to who he was.

“There are 300 acres here, all belonging to the earl of Bridgemont,” the man replied. “And who, sir, are you?” The man clearly hadn’t recognized him personally nor had he identified Granger as someone from the apex of society. Granger attributed that to the casual clothing he’d worn.

“Sir George Granger.” The man’s eyes bulged and he dismounted quickly.

“I’m sorry, Sir George, I didn’t even know you were back.”

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Bowen. My father conveyed this land to me, and as I was on my way to Portsmouth, I decided to investigate it.”

Bowen took them on a tour of the old building, which had been an abbey, then a school. It had been abandoned for well over 50 years now. The masonry on the exterior appeared to be salvageable, but much of the interior was in ruins. It would take some lumber and a lot of work to make this place inhabitable. He took them on a tour of the lands surrounding it, and of the farms that he managed for Granger. It was a brief expedition, but a worthwhile one. Granger remembered when he’d first been to Brentwood, and how horrified he’d been at the terrible way the tenants had been treated. Mr. Bowen appeared to have things well in hand. It was a well run estate.

“I wonder if those buildings could be made to house the men, sir?” Jeffers asked. “If you was looking for a place for them to be.”

“Only five miles or so from London,” Chartley observed.

“That’s an interesting thought, Jeffers,” Granger said. Since they were off to a late start, and his detour had already cost them a few hours, they mounted their horses, then they pressed on, riding down the road toward Portsmouth. They went at a comfortable pace, dodging the occasional post chaise or wagon as they went. Granger had pondered Jeffers idea as they went. “Do you think the men could make it habitable?”

“I don’t see why not, sir,” Jeffers opined. “Most of us know something about carpentry.”

“Us?” Granger asked curiously. Winkler looked at him with an equally puzzled expression.

“I’d be willing to help you out, sir, if that meets with your approval,” Jeffers said nervously.

“You’d supervise it, and make sure that it got done?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Jeffers said.

“You should start thinking of how many men you will need, and what resources you will need,” Granger said, in essence giving him the job.

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said, grinning. It was a worthy cause, and it would be a good project for him. It would give him something to do while he was ashore. Winkler was not as receptive to the idea, so Granger and Chartley trotted ahead of them to give them some room to argue.

“So did you send Caroline off to Brentwood to get her away from Gloucester?” Chartley asked.

“It seems that everyone knows of this affair, yet no one told me.” He stared at Chartley meaningfully, as if wanting to know why he hadn’t written him about it.

“I did not notice it until a fortnight ago,” Chartley answered firmly. “And even if I had known, I would not have written to you about it.”

“Why not?”

“And what would you have done?” Chartley demanded. “You would have been at sea, and fumed yourself into a fit.”

“You don’t understand me,” Granger argued. “It would have given me a chance to digest the situation, and prepare for it.” Granger truly detested unpleasant surprises. He would much rather know about something so he could steel himself to deal with it in his normal, unperturbed manner.

“George, this isn’t something you can prepare for. You have to take it as it lands.”

“I walk among the people I know at court and can almost hear them snickering at me,” Granger groused, opening up to this man, the only real friend he seemed to have left in England. “They look at me, wondering if I can get an erection, or if I am a horrible lover. I have never felt so humiliated in all my life.” Chartley recognized the core issue here, that Granger had been assaulted at two of his weakest points. Granger was a prideful man, with good reason, but his standing in society was something he’d never really had challenged. To be embarrassed in front of his peers was agonizing. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he was a young man, with a young man’s sensitivity about his sexual skills.

“Women have affairs all the time. It does not reflect on your prowess, especially since you have been gone.”

“I am back now, and she is still fucking him,” Granger said coldly. “So it is a bit different.”

Chartley stared at him, amazed at that revelation. He’d had no idea Caroline was continuing the affair now that Granger was back. “So what will you do?”

“I am going to Portsmouth to pay off Belvidera. By the time I return, my father speculates that they’ll be ready to ship me off, to get me out of the country for a long time. Sending Caroline away to Brentwood will probably make that happen even sooner.”

“Why hasn’t she broken it off with him?”

Granger slowed his horse, so he would be clearly heard. “Because she is carrying his child.”

Chartley said nothing for a bit, digesting that news. “Does the King know?”

“Gloucester doesn’t want to tell him. That may foil his plan to pack me off to the Indies,” Granger said with a sneer. He calmed himself down again, frustrated that this whole affair had broken through his normal self-control. “My father is going to tell him.”

“And what will you do?”

“If the King wishes me to go to the Indies, then I will go,” Granger said fatalistically. “I have told Caroline that I am going to personally tell the Prince of Wales.”

“Neither one of them will be pleased.” Chartley thought for a moment. “Silly Billy is the King’s favorite nephew. He is not without influence, but the King will be furious with him, and with Caroline.”

“This would not be so bad if the man had any decency at all,” Granger groused, letting out his inner frustrations to this man he had developed such a strong attachment to. “He smirks at me when he sees me, as if he’s gloating that he’s fucking my wife. He visits her while I am at Carlton House and St. James Palace, copulating while I am paying my respects to the King and the Prince.”

“That is where the Prince of Wales may be of some assistance. Clearly Silly Billy does not understand the nicety of screwing another man’s wife.” Granger almost chuckled at that, but the situation had bothered him too much to respond to Chartley’s attempts at humor.

“I am not even sure that she wants to be with him. I think it is possible that she is feeling trapped, that she is afraid to say no to him.” Granger wondered if he sounded like a naïve idiot, proffering that as an alternate reason.

“There really is only one reason for her to feel that way,” Chartley said. Granger looked at him, asking him why with just his expression. “If she is unsure of your support or of your reaction, she will be reluctant to antagonize him. If you desert her, she will be alone.”

Granger digested that, and deep down he knew that may very well be the reason, but he was too angry with Caroline to fully accept it. “Perhaps she is worried about losing political support, of losing her base of power?”

“I do not think that factors into it as much as you may think. Her power base is not made up of those surrounding the King. She is much more closely tied to the Whigs.”

Granger was surprised by that, not that Caroline was more in line with the Whigs, but that politics weren’t involved. “That almost makes it worse. It was much easier to think that she was just doing this for the power.”

“I imagine she did it because she was lonely, and because she was embattled. Tackling your father, going head to head with him as she did, was not easy. She respects him, and it hurt her to have to destroy his dream.”

“And now? I come home, and she is in bed with her legs spread, waiting for him?” Granger had lost control of himself yet again. This whole unpleasant conversation was starting to fray his nerves.

“She is still lonely. You are not really here for her. You are mad at her, and she feels she has betrayed you. Who else does she have?”

“Those are excuses, not reasons. I was supportive when she told me; I told her I would raise the child as my own. I was willing to put the whole thing behind me, and I was willing to say nothing of it to anyone except the King and the Prince of Wales.” He sighed. “Perhaps it is more complex than I had imagined.”

“Undoubtedly,” Chartley agreed.

“What would you do? What would you have me do?” Granger asked, moving beyond whining to seeking advice.

“I think you must be the public picture of propriety. It is easy to become a libertine, and it would be natural for you to want to prove your masculinity with the ladies of the court. And George, there are not many who would not drop their petticoats for you.” He smiled as he saw Granger blush. “But the King would be disappointed in you, and he may just decide that it’s best for you to go away.”

“I am quite happy with what I have so far,” Granger said, leering at Chartley.

“And you must spend as much time as you can at Brentwood, to show Caroline and the others that you still love her,” Chartley decreed. “It will also help cloud the parentage issue when the baby is born.”

They rode on, saying nothing as they both thought about their conversation. “I am not usually a man who expresses his feelings like this,” Granger said. “This is a good example of why that is. I say things, express frustrations, and then end up being embarrassed by my own words.”

“I am like you, and I understand you, George. You are talking to me, and I bear you no malice for sharing your thoughts. You are merely working the problems through. We all need someone we can be ourselves with, who we can let our guard down with.”

“And you would do the same thing with me?” Granger asked. “You were reluctant to do so this morning.”

Chartley was frustrated at being trapped by his own logic. “What do you want to know? Do you want to know how I feel about you? Do you even have to ask?”

“I have to ask when you don’t tell me.”

They were alone on the road, with Jeffers and Winkler a good distance back, politely avoiding their conversation. “I love you, George. How could I not?”

“I am not quite sure how it is possible that you could not love me,” Granger said, joking. “That was what had perplexed me. It seemed impossible that you would not be head over heels in love with me.”

Chartley laughed at this man, who could madden him one minute, and make him so joyful the next. “And?”

“And I think we may make it to Portsmouth by nightfall,” Granger answered.

“And?” Chartley persisted.

“And I love you too,” Granger said, as if yielding in defeat. He’d known his feelings for this peer were strong, but he hadn’t really committed to that emotion, at least not internally, until last night. Their physical bonding had been spectacular, but it was the other part of it, the way they were together, that had made things clear to Granger.

“I have only been with three other men in the same way we were together this morning,” Chartley stammered nervously. “I mean, that I have only been penetrated by three other men.”

“Who were they?” Granger asked, more as a gentle prompt than as a prod.

“The first one was merely boyish experimentation, and it didn’t go all that well.” They both laughed at that. “The second man I truly loved and he loved me. We served together in the army, and were sent to the West Indies together. I have always loved the tropics, so it did not bother me, but he was not so robust. He died of fever, died in my arms.” His voice choked up when he said that, and he said nothing for a long time as he grappled with the pain.

“I had a similar experience,” Granger said, thinking of Travers. “It is one of the hardest things to endure.”

“Did he die of fever?”

“No, he died aboard his ship. He was mortally wounded, and his ship caught fire. We arrived too late to save either him or the ship, but he was still alive when I boarded the vessel. There were flames and smoke billowing all over the place, and he lay there on the deck, helpless, and I could do nothing for him.” Granger bit back the tears.

“If I were dying, I would want you to hold me, and tell me that you loved me. That would be enough. Did you do that?” Granger stared at him and simply nodded. “So did I.”

And then Granger let down his guard completely, something he didn’t think he’d ever do. “At the time of his death, our relationship had changed somewhat, and I think his feelings for me were deeper than mine for him. I fear that he knew that. I fear that I hurt him.”

“I do not think of love like you do,” Chartley said, “and it is possible that he did not either.”

“I don’t understand.”

“For me, love is about a feeling of total devotion, of caring for someone so deeply that you would surrender your own life rather than see them lose theirs. It is not measured on a scale; it is a yes or no question.”

Granger pondered that. “Maybe I put it on a scale because I love more than one person.”

“I can see that,” Chartley said. “You like your world to be orderly, so it makes sense that you would have people arrayed in order, based on your emotional attachment to them.” Granger almost found that irritating, as if he would set up his own hierarchy of love in his own mind.

“But you don’t do that?”

“No, I don’t,” Chartley said. “I am not saying that you should not. There is not, in my mind, a right or wrong way to approach this. I am just sharing how I view it.”

Granger pondered this man who had captured part of his heart, and wondered at how different he was from the other people that he loved. He thought of Travers, who had been so stalwart and reliable; Calvert, so passionate and intense; Caroline, so practical they were almost business partners; and Cavendish, so cultured and brilliant. And now there was Chartley, who had earned a spot in the Pantheon of people Granger loved. He was Granger’s sage. “As I think of those whom I love, or have loved, they are all so different. Perhaps I have not found one person to fulfill all of my needs,” Granger joked.

“Perhaps you have, and you just don’t realize it yet?” Chartley asked, flirting.

“Perhaps,” Granger said coquettishly. They rode on further, before Granger brought them back to the topic that had started this conversation. “What about the third man?”

Chartley got uncomfortable, and they rode on in silence. Granger presumed he was collecting his thoughts. “He was a friend, my best friend. We had done so much together, we had done everything together. I had fallen in love with him, and while I knew he loved me, I didn’t know if it was a romantic love, or love based on friendship.” They trotted on, while Chartley seemed to collect his thoughts and words. “I knew he liked ladies. I like ladies too. But I always felt that there was a connection between us, a deeper connection, one that would surpass whether we both had dicks.”

“Whom do you prefer for a lover? A man or a woman?” Granger asked. He was curious, but he also wanted to give Chartley’s psyche some relief, as he was clearly agonizing over this story.

“A man.” His simple answer surprised Granger, who was expecting a longer-winded explanation.

“A fact I am most glad of,” Granger said, smiling at him. “So this man did not love you back?”

“We were inebriated one night, and got into an argument, then a fight. He tackled me, and we wrestled on the ground, and one minute he was trying to slam his fist into my face, and it was all I could do to fight him off. Then he seemed to have some sort of epiphany, and he kissed me. It was magical. We kissed for the longest time, and then he turned me over, pulled down my trousers, and entered me. He was a good lover, slow and caring, and until this morning, it was the best sex I’d ever had.”

“I thought this morning was pretty wonderful as well.” Granger smiled at him. “So what happened?”

“The next morning he acted like nothing had ever happened. I tried to talk of it, but he refused. The next time we were drunk, I gave him an opportunity to do it again, but he didn’t take me up on it. It was, for him, a non-event.”

“Was he rude to you?” Granger asked, with fire in his eyes.

“No. He has a playful, almost boyish demeanor. It’s impossible to stay mad at him, and he uses that as a powerful tool to avoid subjects he doesn’t like. In the end, you just don’t want to upset him.”

“He sounds just like Bertie,” Granger joked. And then things seemed to move in slow motion, as Granger came to the correct conclusion at the same time Chartley’s expression gave him away. Chartley looked at him sharply, and Granger could physically see him raise his defenses. “It was Bertie,” Granger murmured softly, so shocked was he.

Chartley spurred his horse and rode ahead of Granger, not to run away, but just to put some distance between them. Granger moved his horse ahead gradually, ever so slowly closing the gap, using the time it took to think about what Chartley had told him. Maybe he was just a substitute for Bertie, and Bertie was Chartley’s true love? Granger thought about that, and thought about their night and their time together in the Mediterranean. He didn’t want to end this relationship, and he didn’t want to fight with Chartley. An incredibly selfish thought entered his brain, telling him that he should forgive the handsome peer for loving Bertie, if only because he had no other friends left in all of England.

“I should not have told you,” Chartley said as Granger rode up next to him.

Granger looked at Chartley, forcing him to look back at Granger. “I am a little shocked, and it is a bit strange, but my feelings for you haven’t changed.”

“You will think I am only with you because I cannot be with Bertie.”

“Are you?”

“No!” he insisted emphatically.

“I believe you,” Granger said calmly. The two men rode on to Portsmouth, struggling with their internal demons, but determined to save their relationship.