Page 6 of Thrown

“It might seem laughable now,” Robert, Jr. went on as they walked down the hallway, which smelled faintly of paint and other painting supplies, “but around the turn of the twentieth century, there was only one son and heir, and no one was entirely certain whether the family line would end with him.”

“Poofda, was he?” Toby asked teasingly, though he was one to talk.

Robert, Jr. twisted to glare disapprovingly at him. Once again, the uncomfortable look in his eyes told Toby he’d guessed correctly.

“My great-great-grandfather married in his forties, and he managed to have two sons,” Robert, Jr. said. Whether he was aware of it or not, his accent had gone downright prissy. “One of them was killed in the First World War. Because of that, he and my great-grandfather agreed to lend the house to the government to be used as a convalescent hospital.”

Toby had watched Downton Abbey. He knew how that had probably gone. The whole place had likely been swarming with officers, turning their noses up at the enlisted men and getting the maids pregnant.

“The family fortunes started to have trouble after that,” Robert, Jr. went on as they reached a turn at the end of the hallway that led them out to the grand staircase that Toby had seen when he’d entered the house. As they headed back downstairs, the story continued with, “It was my great-grandfather who had the idea of leasing the house to be turned into a boarding school after the Second World War.”

“Leasing it?” Toby asked, a new channel of ideas opening up in his mind.

“Yes,” Robert said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, then stopped.

Several people had arrived at the house, likely for classes. They seemed to know where they were going, though. A few even waved or greeted Robert.

“Dormans Boys’ School took over operations of the house and paid to have the west wing renovated and made into schoolrooms,” Robert continued. “Our family paid for the east wing to be converted into dormitories, and my grandfather and his brothers moved into what had been tenant cottages elsewhere on the property.

“The lease with Dorman Boys’ School was for fifty years,” Robert, Jr. went on, “and by the time it ran out in the nineties, the school didn’t have enough attendance to carry on. So the family took possession of the house once more, converting the dormitory portion into flats. And because it had already been in use as a school for decades, we opened the Hawthorne Community Arts Center, and we’ve been operating it as a local art school ever since.”

If he were honest, Toby found the history of the house and the various uses it had been put to in the last hundred years fascinating. It wasn’t his job to be charmed by a bunch of titled snobs, though, even if they didn’t have the money behind their title anymore and they needed his help.

“Well,” he said with a cocky shrug, “to start off with, you have too much unused space. I counted about six or seven unused classrooms in the small bit of the house we just walked through. I’ve also seen your catalog. You could either offer more classes, or, if you don’t want to pay those instructors, you could rent out the classroom space, either to artists who need studio space or to people who need a classroom to teach in on a freelance basis.”

The look of surprise that Robert, Jr. gave Toby felt deeply satisfying. He’d taken the bastard by surprise and wiped the smugness right off his too-handsome face.

“I’m not sure that’s something Dad wants to consider,” Robert, Jr. mumbled.

Toby’s smile widened. Translation, he liked the idea, but it burnt him that someone so far beneath him had come up with it.

Before either of them could continue the battle, they were interrupted as a stunningly pretty young man with his long hair tied back in a ponytail came out of the office and walked toward them.

“Robbie,” he said with a smile as he reached them. “June Somersby called to say she wouldn’t be able to make your class this morning. Her arthritis is acting up again.”

“Thanks,” Robert replied with a tight smile. He checked his watch, then sighed. “I need to get down there. My class starts in five minutes.”

The pretty man only barely acknowledged that before turning to Toby and extending a hand. “Hi. I’m Early Stevens. I work in the office and run the house social media accounts.”

“Toby Tillman. Pleased to meet you,” Toby said, deliberately being nicer to Early than he was being with Robert. He even gave Robert a sly grin to rub it in.

That grin vanished when Early asked Robert, “Is this a new boyfriend?”

“No, he’s?—”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Early said with a teasing smile for both of them, “but you always find the best men. You were too good for Keith. He wasn’t nearly enough fun. Toby here seems like a lot of fun.” He winked at Toby.

“He’s not?—”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Toby said.

“He’s the financial assessor who Dad hired to tell us all what a shit job we’re doing of running our family business,” Robert said in clipped, seething tones.

He then went straight into, “Excuse me, I have a class to teach,” before marching off down one of the corridors off the front hall.

“Ouch. Sorry about that,” Early said, wincing a little. “It’s just that we’re all sad for Robbie after the break-up. Keith really wasn’t good enough for him. You seem very much like his type, and I just—” Early cut himself off, pinching his face. “Sorry.”

“Robert, Jr. is gay?” Toby asked, one eyebrow raised. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It gave the earlier, imagined hard-on a whole different meaning.

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