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Edwin frowned. He nudged William with his elbow. “Try.”

“I can’t.”

After a brief pause, Edwin nudged him once more. “Try. Please.” William looked over. “Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to tell you who I was? And the way I was broken?”

“But you’re not broken.”

Edwin smirked and lifted his eyebrows pointedly. “And maybe you’re not broken either.”

William huffed a short, bitter laugh. “Clever,” he said. He passed his tongue over his lips, and his expression became serious again. “Do you really want to know?”

“Hmmm . . . no,” Edwin said. “On second thought, I think I’ll go.”

Clapping his hands on his thighs, Edwin moved to stand. William grabbed hold of Edwin’s sleeve and pulled him back onto the bench. They both chuckled.

Heaving a sigh, William rolled his eyes very dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Or I’ll try to tell you.” He shifted positions, relaxing back and folding his arms across his chest. “So, as you may or may not have heard, that whole stork fairy tale that was fed to the two of us when we were kids is a complete lie.”

Edwin began to laugh. “Will! Be serious!”

“Look, if I can’t be a little ridiculous, I’ll never make it through this. Just, please, let me babble for a little while as I figure out how to say what I need to say.”

Rolling his eyes, Edwin flicked his wrist, silently encouraging him to continue.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” William began, “we were fed that story when we were kids, only to find out later that babies come from somewhere else. I’m sure that, at some point, one or both of your parents sat you down and told you what happens on, a, uhm, a wedding night, yes?”

“Yes . . .”

“And most people, they’re . . . excited about it.” He took a pause and cleared his throat. “It’s something to . . . look forward to, isn’t it? Or it would be for, uh, for most people.”

William’s voice faltered when he said those last few words. Edwin’s face fell as he was struck with the realization about what he meant.

“But it’s not,” he said. “For you.”

“It’s not. For me.” William confirmed. He raked a hand through his hair. “And I know—or I think I know—that the, uh, wedding night festivities are something Agnes would want. With me. But I can’t seem to make myself want it.” His face flushed beet red. “I’ve tried to want it. I’ve thought about it. Alone. Intimately. And, ah, well, thinking about Agnes is . . . fine. But thinking about . . . the, ah, the marital bed . . . thinking about my role in the marital bed, specifically . . . Edwin, I . . . oh, Jesus, there’s no polite way to put this so I apologize for being blunt, but I can’t stay hard.”

Edwin’s eyes flew wide. “Oh.”

“Sorry again for being crass. I know you’re probably familiar with the, uh, specifics of why that part might be important. After all, you’re with Andrew and—”

Edwin sucked in a sharp breath, inhaling some of his spittle, and subsequently began to cough.

“What?!” Edwin spluttered.

“What?” William repeated.

“How do you know about Andrew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure it out once you told me that you like men and that you were interested in someone,” he said. “It’s not as though you have a lot of friends, Edwin. And you practically leapt at the chance to spend time with the man when we arrived back in Albany from our trip.” He laughed. “Actually, I caught the two of you napping together on the train ride there. You both looked extremely cozy.”

Edwin cupped a hand over his mouth. “Jesus God.”

“Don’t look so scandalized! I promise I kept it to myself!”

Cringing, Edwin removed his hand. William chuckled a bit more and then sighed.

“So, now you see why I can’t marry Agnes,” William said. “It makes me intensely uncomfortable to think about having sex with someone, even if that someone is her. And I know it’s selfish of me to behave like I have been around her, but I really am interested in her. Still . . . Edwin, I can’t be her husband. I can’t hurt her like that. I care about her too much to . . .” His voice cracked, and he cut himself off. He shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Anyway, I thought that maybe if I married my cousin, that would be for the best. Because, then, when I can’t perform, perhaps Amelia will be . . . relieved, I guess, rather than heartbroken, like Agnes might have been.”