Page 12 of Once a Gentleman
Chapter Six
The study door swung open without the heralding knock the servants generally managed to give, and Kit scrambled to his feet just in time for Turner to stroll in, clothing in perfect order and hair brushed to a sheen.
“Good morning, Mr. Hewlett,” he said with genial aplomb, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Lovely sunshine today, don’t you think?”
Kit snapped his mouth closed, aware that he had been gaping in utter disbelief. Only a few hours before, Turner had suggested bringing his molly to Kit’s bed. The weather? The bloody buggeringweather?
But if he wished to pretend he’d been too foxed to remember, Kit could do the same. Better that by far than acknowledge his own recollections of the night. “It’s very pleasant,” he said cautiously.
“Capital!” Turner flashed a grin that showed far too many teeth. Kit had to fight the urge to duck behind the desk and hide. Despite the smudges of purple beneath Turner’s eyes, they glowed like gemstones. And he had a dimple in his cheek. Oh, the devil. “Then it’s the ideal time for you to unchain yourself from these dusty papers,” he paused to flick one with the tip of his finger, “and spend the morning in more enjoyable pursuits.”
“More.” Kit swallowed. “Enjoyable pursuits?”
That grin only widened. “Yes. You’re visiting my tailor, my dear fellow. I have—”
Oh, no. Not in a thousand years. “I beg your pardon, but—”
“A reputation to uphold for being all the crack,” Turner went on blithely, “and guests tomorrow night, joining us for dinner. You’ll need a full suit of evening clothes, I imagine, since fashions have changed, you know. Coats are not cut in the same way they were a few months ago. Bisset can’t do his very best work at such short notice, but he’ll outfit you well, I’d wager.”
“Joining you,” Kit said, with as much firmness as he could muster, completely ignoring the nonsense about the cuts of bloody evening coats. “Joiningyou, sir. We are not an us, certainly not in the context of dinner invitations!”
“Tut tut, Mr. Hewlett. Your tutors would be ashamed of your abuse of grammar. Samuel!” he called over his shoulder, into the silence of Kit’s stunned disbelief.
The door opened instantly, and Samuel came to attention just inside the study. “Mr. Hewlett,” he said with a bow. “It will be my honor to attend you this morning. The carriage is outside, and I have your coat and hat in the hall.”
Once again, Kit felt his control over events slipping inexorably away from him. He had the funds to refresh his wardrobe, since Turner had insisted upon his drawing his first quarter’s salary in advance. But the vivid memory of that damnable coat Turner had tried to give him intervened, and it stiffened his spine.
“I have no need of a tailor. I thank you, sir.” It took an effort to keep his tone even; gratitude was the very last emotion he felt.
Turner narrowed his eyes, cocked his head, and regarded Kit in a way he found unsettling. “Very well, Mr. Hewlett,” he said blandly. “It is of course your prerogative to attend any social gathering dressed in any way that pleases you. I will take great pleasure in your company in the drawing room at seven o’clock tomorrow evening, however you are attired.” And with a nod, Turner had gone. Kit heard his footsteps, brisk in the hall and staccato on the stairs, retreating from any rejoinder Kit could have made.
Kit clenched his fists and bit his lip, seething with annoyance. He could not refuse to dine with his employer. And even if his own pride would allow him to appear before Turner’s no-doubt fashionable company in his shabby best, he could hardly be an embarrassment, not when Turner had, albeit in the guise of a jest, told him not to be.
He had been outmaneuvered yet again, and he was beginning to find it tiresome.
“Sir,” Samuel said quietly. “Might I take the liberty of sharing a brief anecdote of one of my previous employers?”
Kit looked up, startled. For a moment he’d forgotten Samuel was there. “I beg your pardon?”
Samuel cleared his throat. “A gentleman who employed me as a valet some years since would insist that his cousin, whom he employed as his steward, always dine with the family. And he would take great pleasure, in his cups, in commenting upon his relation’s appearance, which was never quite up to snuff, since he was paid little.” Samuel sighed lugubriously, and continued in a low, somber tone, “I regret to say my former employer was, not to put too fine a point upon it, a clutch-fisted nip cheese, and as stiff-rumped as a duke.”
Kit choked on a laugh he couldn’t completely repress, bringing a hand to his mouth and attempting to feign a cough. Good Lord, but he shouldn’t encourage such vulgarity from a servant, particularly when discussing his employers, whether present or former.
And then the meaning of Samuel’s little homily sank in, and he found his anger and his amusement both draining away as if Samuel had pulled the tap out of a keg. Turner might be high-handed, indeed, and Kit had no real wish to associate with his friends. But an attempt to ensure Kit could join the company as a gentleman without fearing mockery or contempt was far preferable to the alternative.
It put Turner’s offering of his cast-off coat on Kit’s first day in the house in a rather different light, at that. Had he been, truly, only attempting to put Kit more at his ease? If that had been his motivation then, when Kit had rejected the overture so roundly…and if Kit were to treat this in the same way? It would give offense, perhaps terrible offense. Perhaps terribly justified offense.
“Very well,” Kit said on a sigh. “I suppose you know the way to this tailor of Mr. Turner’s?”
“Indeed, sir.” Samuel stepped back to allow Kit to pass through the door, his posture radiating smugness and a small smile playing over his lips.
It was possible that Kit had been in the wrong. But that would not do at all.
Kit stopped just as he reached the doorway and looked Samuel in the eye. “You act as Mr. Turner’s valet in addition to your other duties, do you not? And I believe he is quite particular.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Well then. I respect your loyalty to your master, but if there is ever another occasion on which you participate in, let us say, persuading me to some action I have not resolved upon on my own? A dreadful accident will befall his cravats. Or perhaps his coat buttons. You will need to live in suspense on this point. Am I sufficiently clear?”
