Will and the Valentine Saint

By Summer Devon and Bonnie Dee

A Valentine bonbon from Devon/Dee.
Will Andrews wishes to escape the craziness of his bohemian family and create some order in his life. Hiding his eccentric theater background and presenting false letters of recommendation, he interviews for a position at a legal aid society. The last thing he expects is to fall hard for his genteel employer, Hugh St. John.
When Hugh needs a secretary, one magnetic candidate draws him. Will Andrews shares his vision for the Society and is also the most attractive man he’s ever met. But Hugh has never even kissed a man and would never throw himself at an employee.
As the pair plans a Valentine charity dinner, they grow ever closer to surrendering to Cupid’s arrow. But when Will’s false credentials and true background are revealed, can Hugh forgive his lies and omissions? Can fragile romance blossom into true love after trust is broken?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summer Devon
• Release date: Jan 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310484476

Summer Devon

About the Author Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell who also writes under her own name.  Summer writes m/m books of all sorts. Many of her titles are co-written with Bonnie Dee For more information about Summer/Kate, go to http://katerothwell.com or http://summerdevon.com.  Summer can also be found at https://www.facebook.com/S.DevonAuthor

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Will and the Valentine Saint

Copyright © 2016 by Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Dedication

A morsel of sweetness for all our readers at Christmas time. We hope you enjoy Simon and Christopher.

Chapter One

London 1886

The world’s a stage, my boy. Uncle Dion threw his arms out wide to encompass the boards he stood upon and the small theater surrounding them. And we but humble players, waiting in the wings for our chance to burst into glorious life under the spotlight.

Will sighed and reined in his impatience with the flamboyant older gentleman, who couldn’t understand why Will wanted to follow a different path. Not all of us are keen to be artistes taking center stage. Some of us would welcome a sedate, comfortable existence.

Sedate. Dion wiped his hands together, brushing off the notion. Another definition for dull. God knows you’re not much of an actor, but your dancing… Tchah! To lose that for our next production—

Why must dull be a negative term? Will mounted the steps to face Dion, who wasn’t technically his uncle but who had lived with his family for as long as he could remember. From an eye-catching ginger wig to his extravagant ascot to the bejeweled buckles on his shoes, Dion would never be accused of being sedate or dull.

Why is ‘ordinary’ so frowned upon by our family? Will continued. I sincerely thank you and Simon for the offer of a job helping to manage the Extravaganza, but I wish to separate myself from the theater. It’s past time I struck out on in a new direction.

Since being dismissed last year from his job as a waiter at a gentleman’s club, Will had worked a few hours here and there at many places around London, including Simon and Christopher’s little theater, the Extravaganza. If he took a position that required most of his waking hours here, he knew he’d never make a change.

Dion frowned until his shaggy brows joined above his eyes. You desire to reinvent yourself. I understand. But I will always recall what a dreamy lad you were, Woolly. Full of imagination and ideas. Must you forsake that boy completely in order to live a mundane life?

Even working in an office there is room for creativity and for growth. I may begin as a secretary and move to a managerial position.

Which is exactly what you’ve been offered here, Dion pointed out. You can creatively help us figure out ways to get more arses in the seats and coin in the coffers.

Were receipts still bad last night? Will gazed at the rows of thinly cushioned wooden seats in the empty house.

Not through any fault of the players or the script, and your brother Christopher is stunning in his role. We simply haven’t found our audience yet. Dion nodded sagely. But we will. I predict a day when theatergoers will fight one another for tickets.

Will studied the humble theater. A new coat of paint the entire Andrews family and their ever-changing group of houseguests had applied wasn’t enough rouge to tart up the aging building. Christopher’s lover, Simon, the financier of the enterprise, had been extremely generous, but at some point, the theater must begin to pay for itself. The play the troupe currently put on was about to close. The next one needed to succeed.

You might want to consider your audience. Save the eccentric or esoteric pieces for matinees and off nights, and offer more traditional fare for evening performances, Will suggested.

A sound idea. Are you certain you want to leave us, m’boy? Dion held up his hands before Will was forced to repeat his arguments. "I know, I know. You’re off on what you consider a grand adventure. If you regain your sanity or fail to win the day, there will always be work for you at the Extravaganza—provided we’re still in business."

Will’s brother emerged from the wings already in costume. He’d moved away from his natural ability to be a clown for this production, a mistake, though Christopher made an almost lovely woman in a wig and frock, moving gracefully in high heels. Artfully applied makeup nearly hid the shadow of his beard.

Will shared that tendency. He stroked his chin and wondered if he should shave again before leaving to meet his prospective employer. Presenting an immaculate appearance might serve to keep the man from examining his letters of recommendation too closely.

Woolly, you’re wearing your finest suit. Where are you off to today? Christopher drew close and leaned to straighten Will’s tie. There. You are the very picture of a professional gent. But why another interview? I thought Dion would coerce you into helping him. We can offer a small salary. Nothing lavish, but enough to live on.

Please tell Simon I appreciate that, Will said. I may still accept the offer, but I’d like to try to win this position. It’s as a secretary.

Christopher looked at him as doubtfully as Uncle Dion had. Really? You’re quite sure you want to spend every day in a tedious office?

Will had had enough of his family members disdaining his choice and answered rather tartly. The Society I’d be working for offers legal help to those who can least afford it. It is important work, and I should be glad to be a part of it. I would consider this an apprenticeship of sorts that might lead to other things, but even if it doesn’t, this is my choice to make. He challenged his brother to argue with an unblinking stare.

Christopher lifted one finely plucked eyebrow. Your decision, of course, but I can’t imagine you’ll be challenged by taking dictation and filing things. Rather like watching paint dry. And if you think those educated sorts will ever allow you to rise to a management position, you’re fooling yourself.

Will grew more annoyed. His teasing older brother had a way of ruffling his feathers as no one else could. Perhaps it was because he cared too much for Christopher’s opinion, or perhaps it was because he secretly wondered if he was right.

He ignored the bait. I must be off. I can’t afford to be late.

Good luck, darling, Dion trilled and waved his embroidered handkerchief in a dramatic farewell.

Oh, very droll, Will said. I know you would never say such an unlucky thing to someone about to go on stage.

Dion rolled his eyes. We pray not to lose you to the lions of the Square Mile in that sea of filthy lucre.

He didn’t bother pointing out again that he wasn’t applying to a business of commerce. If it wasn’t theater, it was a murky dull world to them. He bid them good-bye and headed out to catch a streetcar heading toward London’s financial district. Simply known as the City, the heart of London was populated by gentlemen in dark suits carrying furled umbrellas. Hardly a woman or a spot of color in sight. The simplicity of the streets and sober buildings was a world away from the artistic West End.

Will’s entire life had been a tapestry of eccentric sorts. Whether here in London where his family had recently moved or back in Brighton and various other points on the map, home had always been a noisy colorful rout peopled by performers. These friends might spend the night and often stay well beyond the invitation. There wasn’t a square inch