“It doesn’t matter,” Freddy said quickly. “Tomorrow is fine. To talk, I mean. Get your—get Mr. Redford home.”
He lifted his hand, patted Henry’s shoulder awkwardly, then turned on his heel and walked quickly away.
An hour later, Henry folded back the sheets on Kit’s bed.
“In you get,” he said firmly.
Kit—looking absurdly fetching in a plain white nightgown—said, “I’m fine now. I don’t feel sick or dizzy anymore. I’ve just got a bit of a headache left.”
“Even so,” Henry said, patting the mattress. “The rest will do you good. I’ll watch over you.”
Kit pressed his lips together, but eventually he said. “Fine, but only if you come in beside me.”
Henry was only too happy to agree to that condition. “Very well. You get in while I get undressed.”
He quickly removed his clothes, only stopping when he was down to his drawers. By the time he turned back to the bed, Kit was tucked under the covers waiting for him, his gaze unashamedly travelling over Henry’s mostly naked body.
Henry smiled and extinguished the candles before climbing in next to Kit.
He didn’t reach for Kit, not yet, but settled his head on the other pillow facing him. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, so he could not see Kit’s face. “We have much to talk about,” he said gently. “But perhaps in the morning? You must be exhausted.”
“Actually, I’m not tired at all,” Kit said. “Remember, I’m up very late most nights and sleep late into the morning. This feels like a very early bedtime to me.”
“Not to me,” Henry replied. “At home—in Wiltshire, I mean—I’m usually in bed before now.”
“Bumpkin,” Kit said, but his tone was affectionate. “So, what do you want to talk about? I suppose you want to know why I was at Jake Sharp’s club tonight?”
“Yes, and what that brawl was about,” Henry said. “And I must admit, I’m curious as to how you know Sharp.”
Kit’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. He shifted, settling one hand under his cheek as he looked at Henry. “I have questions too,” he said.
“Such as?”
“Such as why you were there,” Kit replied. “And why your son was.”
“Freddy?” Henry said. Then, “He knows you—how?”
“He doesn’t really,” Kit replied. “But a couple of weeks ago, he saw a man set upon Clara while she was out walking. He chased off her attacker and brought her home. He didn’t mention his name, or of course, I’d have made the connection—he’s very like you.”
“He mentioned that incident,” Henry said.
“You should be proud of him,” Kit continued. “He came to Clara’s aid that day, and to mine tonight—his friend was intent upon giving me a beating, but Freddy stepped in and stopped him.”
“I am proud of him,” Henry murmured. And he was. Freddy had not only stood up for Kit tonight when he obviously needed assistance, he had done so against his own friend.
“I hope he wasn’t hurt?”
“He seems to have come out of the scuffle more or less unscathed,” Henry said. “Which is more than I can say for Bartlett—Freddy inflicted a black eye and a split lip on him.”
“Good,” Kit said with relish. “He deserves that, and a great deal more besides.”
“So, Bartlett was the man who wanted to give you a beating?”
“He was.”
“Why?”
Kit sighed. “You remember me telling you that Clara was a governess in a wealthy household? And that the son of the house forced himself on her?”
“That was Bartlett?” Henry asked, horrified.
Kit nodded “Peter is his natural child—not that he’ll ever recognise the boy. Clara recently approached Bartlett and asked him to contribute money to Peter’s upbringing. He didn’t take it well.”
Henry stared at Kit. He could just about make out his features now that his vision had adjusted to the darkness, and Kit’s expression was tight with anger.
“She shouldn’t have approached him,” Kit said. “She knew what he was like.”
“Then why did she?” Henry asked curiously.
“Peter has a weak chest. The doctor told Clara she needs to move him to the country and she realised she would have to stop working at Redford’s to do that. So, she decided to try to get the money she needed from Bartlett—and he reacted by sending thugs after her.”
“And is this where we come to why you were at Sharp’s tonight?” Henry guessed.
Kit’s soft laugh was rueful. “It is.”
“You went to see Bartlett? Why? To ask for the money for Clara?”
“Christ, no!” Kit exclaimed, rising up on his elbow. “I would not sink to the level of that slug by blackmailing him. I’ve already told Clara not to worry about money again—she and Peter are family to me, and I will always provide for him. I went to Sharp's tonight with the sole intention of forcing Bartlett to leave Clara alone by publicly confronting him.” He gave a dismissive snort then. “Besides, he’s got no money. His father has some wealth, it’s true—though it’s mostly tied up in land—but I expect Bartlett will run though that within a year or two of his sire passing on.”
Henry gazed at Kit, who was now settling himself back down onto his pillow. His strategy had been well thought out. He was a clever man, and a principled one. Brave, too. He didn’t need to stick his neck out for Clara and Peter, but he did it because he thought it was the right thing to do—and because he’d taken responsibility for a little boy who was not his own son.
Henry was rocked by an unexpected wave of emotion that had him swallowing painfully against a sudden lump in his throat.
When he had himself under control again, he said, “Clara and Peter are very lucky to have you.”
Kit’s expression softened. “I’m lucky to have them,” he said. “Given how Peter was conceived, one might think—” he broke off, shaking his head minutely—“but despite everything, Clara’s devoted to him. She is the best of mothers.”
Henry watched Kit, fascinated, trying to interpret his expressions. After a moment, he said, carefully, “Was your mother… not like that?”
Kit made a soft noise of amusement. “Actually, my mother was very indulgent—very affectionate.” He smiled. “But she was also rather…” He trailed off, as though unsure how to finish.
Henry stayed quiet, waiting as Kit thought.
“Life was not kind to her,” Kit said at last. “And it is hard to be strong when life always beats you down.” He paused, and again, Henry waited, sensing there was more to come. There was something about the darkness that made it easier to share one’s thoughts.
“She conceived me with a client,” Kit said at last. “She didn’t ever tell me who the man was. She may not have known. She’d been pregnant before and got rid of the babe, but for some reason, she decided to keep me.”
Kit must have seen the shock on Henry's face, because his eyes gleamed, hard like polished stone in the darkness. “In the world I grew up in, women like my mother had to make all sorts of decisions you would disapprove of, Henry, just to survive.”