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Joss sneezed, and Gareth squinted at him suspiciously. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.”
“Done what?” Joss asked, far too innocently. He had returned from a run very early that morning and come to Tench House around midday, still shivering a little from the cold, his leather coat dripping with water from the driving rain. The three of them—Joss, Gareth, and Luke—were sitting in the kitchen with steaming cups of tea and a plate of bread and soft sheep’s milk cheese. Luke was completely absorbed in a book, turning pages occasionally as his forgotten tea cooled on the table in front of him.
“You never sneeze,” Gareth said. “I was beginning to suspect that the great Joss Doomsday wasn’t susceptible to such mortal failings as colds.”
“I’m too busy for colds.”
“Then you’re too busy. Stay here tonight and let me take care of you. I’ll ask Catherine to make soup. And make up a bed for you,” he added, in case Luke was paying attention.
Luke looked up from his book. “Yes, stay!” Evidently he had been listening and reading at the same time.
Joss reached over and squeezed Luke’s shoulder with a smile. “Since you asked.” Smiles were becoming more common between the two of them in the past months. Luke had begun to warm to Joss again, after a long time of preferring mostly Gareth’s company. Gareth was pleased and relieved for both of them; they needed each other.
“What book have you got there?” Joss asked, and Luke flushed and covered it with his hand. Joss laughed. “You don’t have to admit it, then.”
“A Gothic novel,” Luke mumbled, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Got it from Gareth.”
“Well, he can’t always be reading Latin primers,” Gareth said in Luke’s defense. “We can’t have him getting so smart he’ll be bored in school.”
“True enough,” Joss admitted. “You’ve taken a liking to novels, then?”
Luke nodded tentatively, as though nervous to admit his interest.
“He’s read six or seven of them in the past fortnight,” said Gareth. “I’m going to have to send for some more.”
Joss opened his mouth to say something, and sneezed instead.
Gareth took a sip of tea and just looked at him.
Joss threw up his hands. “All right, London, I’m ill. Might as well admit it.”
“Then you’ll simply need to stay here for a few days, until we’re very sure you’re better. I’ll make sure the fire’s nice and warm in my—in your bedroom.” He glanced guiltily at Luke and didn’t miss his knowing look. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending Joss slept somewhere else; Luke had seen plenty to inform him that, clearly, two bedrooms were not needed.
“A few days,” Joss considered. “I’d much rather be ill here than with all the noise at the Revelation. Suppose they’ll have to manage without me.”
“I suppose they will,” Gareth agreed. Joss truly did work too hard, but when it came down to it, it wasn’t difficult to convince him to stay nights at Tench House. Joss wanted to be there just as much as Gareth—and, he was sure, Luke—wanted him there.
“Will Miss Cecy and Mrs Inglis be home soon?” Joss asked.
“I expect so,” said Gareth. “We’ll all have supper together, and then in the evening, if you’re very lucky, perhaps Luke or I will read to you from a Gothic novel to lull you to sleep.” Perhaps even in Gareth’s bedroom, not the sitting room. Luke knew, and it was past time to be honest. The thought brought with it a strong feeling of relief, even joy.
Joss laughed, and coughed, and laughed again. “Bed rest and Gothic novels. Doctor’s orders?”
Gareth nodded. “We won’t let you leave until you’ve finished at least one in its entirety.”
Luke was smiling. Joss heaved an entirely fake sigh and said, “Looks like I’ve got no choice.”