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As soon as he had more than a few seconds to think about it, Chorley felt ashamed of himself.
He had walked in on his wife in bed with two other men. That was one way of looking at what had happened, and it was true enough that to many people, it would be the only way. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ought to matter.
Chorley was Grace's husband, and in doing as she had done, she had disgraced him.
(There was, Chorley reflected, a pun somewhere in there. He couldn't quite put his finger on where it was, but he knew that if he left it alone for a bit, it might come to him. Then when he faced Grace again, he'd be able to share the joke and maybe make her laugh, which would be good.)
There was another way of looking at recent events, of course. Chorley knew that this was the way in which Grace herself had viewed things, and Tziga, too, no doubt, and maybe even Verity.
None of them seemed quite aware of the fact that appearances mattered, that public opinion mattered, that the Tiebold family's reputation mattered. After all, what else did the Tiebold family possess, apart from a run-down summerhouse, a mountain of debt, and vague dreams of past glory days?
Well, all that, and two dreamhunter spouses. Chorley felt his mood lighten. He wasn't sure if that was wise, if he ought to come out of this room ready to act as if nothing had happened. Perhaps he owed Grace an apology, for making a scene. Perhaps she would come to see him, and he might share his thoughts and feelings and worries, and they could talk things out.
Perhaps that was her, opening the door and slipping in just now. Chorley stayed where he was, his back to the door, waiting. Hoping. Grace might not be as angry with him as he feared. It would be best to let her have the first word, to gauge her mood and adjust his own tone to hers.
"You unbelievable hypocrite," Tziga said, walking into Chorley's field of vision and sitting down without an invitation.
Arguably, the house was Tziga's as much as Chorley's. Chorley suspected that Tziga would have acted in the exact same way if it hadn't been, though, that it wouldn't even occur to Tziga to wait for someone to invite him to sit when he wanted to sit.
Chorley swallowed his first, angry reply. He had wronged Grace. He had admitted as much to himself. That didn't mean he liked the idea of admitting it to Tziga, but it also didn't mean Tziga was wrong.
"It's not a matter of hypocrisy," he said. "It's a matter of, well, propriety."
Chorley imagined he saw Tziga's eyes glitter with fury. He pictured Tziga putting his hands on Chorley, to show Chorley how much Tziga didn't care about propriety.
Chorley thought that fantasy probably should frighten him, disturb him. It did do that, but as this was Tziga, it also excited him, aroused him, even.
"Nothing improper took place." Tziga's tone implied that if it had, he'd still consider Chorley in the wrong and himself in the right. "You know that. You know Grace. You know - "
"I did not, in fact, know the names of the two gentlemen," Chorley interrupted. Nor did he want to know. "And yes, it is all very well to talk about what I know, but what about everyone else?" As if dreamhunters didn't have enough of a reputation already.
"Why should what everyone thinks matter?" Tziga sounded irritable.
"It matters to me," Chorley said. If only it had been Grace - Chorley knew that Grace sometimes struggled, that she was sometimes snubbed by people Chorley considered his peers, because she had been born a tobacconist's daughter. Unlike Tziga, Grace tried. Grace understood it was important to be accepted, to fit in, to be considered respectable.
Or so Chorley had thought. It was clear that she had made a mistake. Only Tziga couldn't, wouldn't see it that way. Chorley was willing to meet Grace halfway: everyone made mistakes. Chorley himself had made one, reacting as he had. Mistakes happened. They would figure out a way to fix things, and that would be that. They would never need to talk about it again.
"I told her it was a mistake to marry you," Tziga said.
Chorley felt as if Tziga had punched him. "You - what? Why? I thought - " He'd thought he and Tziga had become friends of sorts by the time he'd met Grace, that maybe Tziga had even put in a good word for him.
"How often did you tell Verity not to marry me?" Tziga asked.
"That's not fair." Chorley didn't think it was. It had been an entirely different situation.
"Well, she loved you then, and she still loves you now, much as you might deserve otherwise," Tziga said. "And I love you, and Verity loves you, but that doesn't give you the right to act like an utter ass."
Chorley blinked, trying to keep up with Tziga's moods. He did not think one told people one was angry with that one loved them, not in that tone of voice, and yet Tziga had.
Tziga studied him. Chorley realized that he'd slumped down, so that his and Tziga's faces were at the same height. He considered straightening, only that would feel silly now, like Chorley was trying to excuse his behavior with his height.
Chorley took a deep breath. Time to accept the hand he'd been dealt. "I agree."
Tziga cocked his head. "With what?"
Chorley decided that while Tziga might be right, that didn't make him any less unreasonable. "I acted like an ass, and I was wrong to do so. I will apologize to Grace as soon as I see her."
"Good. You should."
Chorley swallowed a pointed comment. It wouldn't be any use. In a way, he supposed he should be grateful Tziga was letting him off this lightly.
Not that Chorley intended to thank Tziga for sticking his nose into things that were between husband (which was to say: Chorley) and wife (Grace). Perhaps that made Chorley a hypocrite - why should Tziga be wrong about that one thing, when he'd been annoyingly, unreasonably right about everything else?
"Did you really tell Grace - " Chorley realized that he felt hurt, almost betrayed. Everything else Tziga had said, well, Chorley could accept that they had been things Chorley had deserved to hear. This was different. This didn't have anything to do with what had happened earlier today.
"Yes." Tziga sounded offended. Chorley winced. He'd had to ask, hadn't he?
Why? Chorley wanted to ask. He told himself he knew better than to ask questions he didn't want to hear the answers to. There were a number of reasons Chorley could think of, all of them valid and sensible, and none of them likely to have even occurred to Tziga.
"I later told her that I had changed my mind and that she should do what she thought best. What she thought would make her happy," Tziga said.
"I guess I should consider myself lucky."
"Yes," Tziga said, which Chorley supposed shouldn't have surprised him, but then Tziga added, "And her, too. You're nice enough, when your brains are working."
"Stop, I beg you. This excessive flattery is making me blush."
Tziga snorted. A small sound, but Chorley knew it signified forgiveness. He felt himself smile and sit up straighter, comfortable to look down at Tziga now that things had been made right between them.
"I should find Grace now, I think. Do you know where she is?"
Tziga shrugged. "You upset her. She's with Verity. I expect neither of them would thank you for interrupting, even if it's for a heartfelt apology. Or possibly especially then."
"So did they kick you out, or did you draw the short straw?"
"I was angry with you," Tziga said. He sounded very calm about it. "Grace was hurt. Verity wanted to comfort her. It was a logical arrangement."
Chorley's earlier fantasy reared its head again. Tziga wasn't actually angry with him anymore, Chorley judged. Well, maybe a little. Enough to give things a bit of an edge, to make Chorley feel he had to work for it, to beg Tziga's forgiveness, to be allowed to please Tziga and have Tziga please him in return.
Chorley felt his mouth go dry. He wondered if Tziga knew what he was thinking. Sometimes, it felt as if Tziga did, as if Tziga might know Chorley better than Chorley knew himself. Sometimes Chorley would find himself doing things or enjoying things he had never imagined himself doing or enjoying, but Tziga had. Tziga had known.
Other times, Chorley wondered if Tziga would have even been able to function in polite society if he hadn't been a dreamhunter.
Tziga sighed and said, "Chorley," and Chorley decided that this time, Tziga did indeed know exactly what was on Chorley's mind.