Henry sighed and turned away to fetch his clothes, noting that Christopher had neatly hung them up for him last night when he was so tired it was all he could do to take them off before he fell into bed.
Moving quietly, Henry took his clothes into the neighbouring dressing room so he wouldn’t disturb Christopher as he dressed.
Once he was ready, he briefly considered going back into the bedchamber to wake his lover to say goodbye, before reminding himself that he needed start exercising some discipline over his unruly feelings. Instead, he left the dressing room by the door that gave onto the corridor outside, and briskly descended the stairs.
He rang the bell in hallway and soon enough, Hodge appeared to unlock the front door and let Henry out, quietly closing it behind him, and shutting him out of Christopher’s life for another few days.
Outside, dawn was not so much breaking as creeping, the greyish sky gradually lightening by degrees.
Henry set off for home on foot. His coachman had dropped him off the night before. Henry never asked him to wait—it was little more than two miles back to the townhouse, and he didn’t mind the walk. It gave him time to assume once again his ducal persona and the weight of the everyday obligations associated with his real life.
But as he walked home this morning, it was not the life he was returning to that he thought of. It was the man he had left sleeping in the little house in Paddington Green, and the fact that it would be three long days before he saw him again.
Henry had decided at the outset of his arrangement with Christopher that he would allow himself to visit the man twice each week. That would meet his physical needs while ensuring that his other responsibilities were not affected. He had not expected to spend the days in between each visit longing to see the man, his concentration ruined by speculation over what Christopher was doing while Henry was away. Worse than that, each time they were reunited was too intensely joyful.
It wasn’t supposed to be like that.
Lustful, yes. Passionate, yes. But this?
He wasn’t supposed to be watching the boy sleep with his damned heart in his throat.
Had his father not warned him about this? Precisely this?
“Take lovers by all means—but don’t lose your head over them, Henry.”
Was he losing his head over Christopher?
Perhaps it was because this was the first taste of freedom he’d had in years, and Christopher made him feel young and carefree. Not that Henry was so very old—only nine-and-twenty—but when he’d been Christopher's age, six years ago now, he’d been married with a child of his own and a second on the way. He’d already held the ducal title for three years, following his father's sudden death. At three-and-twenty, Henry’s life had been full of responsibilities.
It wasn’t all responsibilities though. In Caroline, Henry had found his dearest friend, and the children were the light of his life. The love he felt for his young family was calm and pure and abiding, very different from the muddled, almost agonising feelings Christopher inspired in him. Again, Henry thought of the advice his father had given him on the day he had told him of the marriage he’d arranged between Henry and Caroline. The old duke was already dying, and was anxious to see Henry settled.
“Take your pick of whoever tickles your fancy, my boy, but mind this: save your romantic feelings for your wife.”
Henry had taken that advice to heart. During their brief courtship, Henry had treated the shy, reserved Caroline with a gentle gallantry that had been almost chivalric. The love that had grown between them had been devoted and pure.
As Caroline said, they did not need to share a bed to love one another.
Henry had realised early in the marriage that Caroline had no real interest in bed sport, but it was only after the birth of their fourth child, Alice, that he had learned how deep her aversion truly went. It had come out when he’d gone to her one night, several months after Alice’s arrival, thinking she must be wondering why he had stayed away from her so long. But when he’d removed his robe and slipped into bed beside her, she had begun to sob.
It had all come out then, in a storm of terrible weeping. She loved Henry, but she hated this. She wanted no more children, and she wanted no more of the physical intimacy between them.
As she had sobbed out her confession, she had apologised over and over, saying that she was a terrible wife and that she knew very well that if Henry was like other husbands, he’d have beaten her just for saying such things to him.
And all Henry could think was that, if he had ever truly desired her, perhaps Caroline may not have hated the marriage bed so much. Overcome by guilt and, shamefully, a crawling sort of relief, he’d taken her in his arms, met her wild, grief-stricken gaze, and assured her that he would never want to divorce her. He valued her for far more than her body. And it had been true, every word. She was the mother of his children and, by then, his dearest friend in the world. He had hated seeing her pain.
And he’d had his own secret desires that he’d never confessed to her.
Later, when Caroline was calm, she’d told Henry that he should feel free to go elsewhere to have his physical needs met. She did not expect him to remain celibate. She would look the other way, and they need never speak of it. She asked only that he be discreet, treat her always with respect, and break off any arrangement if she asked him to do so.
He had promised her, then and there, to abide by her rules, assuring her that he was devoted to her in all the ways that mattered, and that no lover he took would ever usurp her.
He’d felt so confident about those promises, envisaging a future in which he would silently slake his lusts on a parade of faceless men. After all, up until then, his experience with other men had amounted to little more than a series of forgettable encounters with accommodating whores.
But he had not envisaged meeting anyone like Christopher Redford. Had not thought it possible to feel such compelling desire for anyone—a desire so intense he would agree to spend a fortune setting Christopher up in his own house, with a handsome allowance, and a generous severance arrangement—just so Henry could have him all to himself for one year.
A year that would soon be up.
What was he to do in two months’ time? Let Christopher go, or continue for another year? God knew he did not want to give Christopher up, but was he flirting with danger if he continued?
“Take lovers by all means—but don’t lose your head over them, Henry. Whether they’re women, or men, or both, it matters not. Whatever morality lessons powerful men may espouse publicly, the truth is that nothing is forbidden to men of our station. However, one must be responsible about one’s actions. We cannot allow the common man the same licence. Can you imagine the effect on society?”
Henry could still see his father’s chilly smile.
“It is different for us. Men of our class carry a great weight of responsibility in this world, and so, such outlets are permissible for us, within limits. By which I mean that you must keep in mind the need for proper discretion at all times, and always remember where your loyalty lies. Take your pick of whoever tickles your fancy, my boy, but mind this: save your romantic feelings for your wife.”
Henry knew, without a doubt, that his father would not have approved of his arrangement with Christopher Redford. The old duke would have told him to end the arrangement when the year was up.