“Clara—”
She smiled ruefully. “Tom can come if it makes you feel better.”
The child glared at her. “I want Uncle Kit to come!”
The young woman gave him a level look and he subsided, though not gracefully, kicking at the ground with one foot. The young woman glanced at Kit then, brows raised expectantly.
Kit sighed, but turned to Henry. “May I introduce my friend, Mrs. Marsden, and her son, Peter?”
Henry’s tension eased. Plainly she was not Kit’s wife.
Kit looked at the young woman. “Clara, this is Henry Asquith, the Duke of Avesbury.”
Henry bowed to her. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Marsden.”
“Charmed, your grace,” Mrs. Marsden said pleasantly with a small curtsey, and a lack of obsequiousness Henry admired. “Peter, say good afternoon.”
Peter stared at Henry balefully. “Good afternoon,” he said flatly, clearly unimpressed.
Henry bit his lip against a smile. The boy reminded him of Freddy at the same age.
“Good afternoon, Peter,” he replied gravely.
Peter ignored him. He looked at the young woman. “May we go now, Mama?”
“We’ll go back and get Tom first, but yes,” she said. “We may.” And with that she nodded to Kit and Henry, and led the boy back into the house.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted your day,” Henry said. “I can come back later if you’d rather.”
Kit shook his head. “No, no, you’re here now. Come in.”
He turned on his heel, leaving Henry to follow him.
Was he annoyed, Henry wondered? He didn’t seem to be, but then Kit had never been one for shows of temper.
By the time they entered the house, there was no sign of Mrs. Marsden or her son—presumably they’d gone in search of the man called Tom.
“We’ll go up to my private sitting room,” Kit said, mounting the stairs. After climbing two flights, Kit led Henry down a short corridor and into a small, much less formal room than the drawing room Henry had been shown into before.
“Take a seat,” Kit said. “Would you like some tea?”
Henry shook his head. “No, thank you.” He settled himself into a small armchair, then immediately wished he’d selected the large chaise longue instead, just to see if Kit would sit beside him. “This is a nice,” he said. “Very cosy.”
“I don’t have many visitors up here,” Kit said. “It’s where I come when I need quiet time.”
Henry felt a warm glow at that—that Kit was allowing him access to this private space of his.
“Do Mrs. Marsden and her son live here too?” he asked carefully.
Kit smiled, seeming mildly amused. “They do.”
“When I first saw you together I thought—wondered, I mean—if you and she were…”
“—married?” Kit completed for him. “People often assume that. And no. We are merely friends.”
“So Peter is…?”
Kit sent him a dry look at the blatant fishing. “Not mine. Officially, we say Clara is my sister, and a widow.”
“And unofficially?”
“She works for me—I took her in at the time she most needed help. Now she’s a very good friend. I consider her and Peter my family, and he is, officially, my godson.”
Henry nodded. “She was an unwed mother then?”
“Through no fault of her own. She’s an educated woman. She had a position as a governess but was raped by the oldest son of the family.”
Henry grimaced. It was an all too common story.
“I’d put up a notice for a junior clerk for Redford’s and she turned up,” Kit said. “She seemed to be such a genteel young lady. I was in the process of telling her she wasn’t quite what I had in mind when she fainted—and I discovered her condition. When she came around, she confessed that she hadn’t been eating, and that her position was quite desperate.”
“So, you gave her the job?”
“I did. And then, when I discovered where she was living, I insisted she move into the club with me—we were in the private apartments I took you up to the other night. Once Peter was born, I bought this house.”
“Why was that? The apartments at the club seemed quite sizeable.”
“Redford’s is not a suitable place to bring up an infant,” Kit said. “I should know—I was brought up in a brothel.”
Henry stared at him, unable to think what to say to that. It was ridiculous to be taken aback—probably many people in Kit’s situation had similar backgrounds—but somehow Henry had never considered that.
“Your mother?” he managed at last.
“She was a prostitute. She worked at the Golden Lily.”
“The same place—” Henry broke off, and Kit laughed at whatever he saw on his face.
“Yes, the same place where we met.”
“Didn't you tell me you ran away from home?” Henry said faintly.
Kit laughed. “I had to tell you something,” he said. “And most gentleman like the idea of a wholesome farm lad who comes to the city in search of debauchery.”
Guiltily, Henry realised he was one of them.
“Why not just tell the truth?” he asked.
Kit met his eyes, and his own were gentle. “I couldn’t have you feeling sorry for me, could I? Better that you think I ran to London town with stars in my eyes, looking for a handsome prince all of my own.”
“Would I have felt sorry for you?” Henry asked softly.
Kit sighed. “How do I know?”
“Tell me then—about when you were a child.”
Kit made an impatient noise. “Does all that history matter now? It was years ago. Now, I own this house, my own business. Many people born into my circumstances would have ended up little better than beggars. I was lucky.”
“In what way were you lucky?” Henry asked, curious.
Kit’s smile widened, but his green gaze was oddly bleak. “I was born beautiful.”
Henry’s heart ached for him.
“How old were you when you first… worked?”
“Again, I was lucky,” Kit said. “I had my mother till I was almost fifteen, and she provided for me. Then, when she died, she made Mabel promise to look out for me. So, Mabel kept me till I was sixteen, before I had to earn.”
“Sixteen?” Henry said hoarsely. He thought of Freddy at sixteen. What a child he had been.
“Mabel was canny,” Kit said. “She started having me serve in the Golden Lily, dressed provocatively. Got me known amongst her customers, then started up a bidding war on me.” He laughed drily.
Henry closed his eyes. He was beginning to feel queasy.
Kit’s hand landed on his knee, and he opened his eyes, meeting Kit’s concerned gaze.
“Don’t feel bad,” Kit said almost angrily. “By the time I met you I’d had my virginity auctioned to the highest bidder and completed my first three contracts. I can assure you, by the time you and I met, I knew everything there was to know about my trade.”
That didn’t make Henry feel better.
“What about after me?” Henry asked hoarsely.