Page 19 of Once a Gentleman
At last, Turner budged up a bit in his chair, leaning into the corner of it with one leg thrown over the arm. “Mr. Hewlett, do you think it possible that now that we’ve both acted the fool, we could speak to one another like men, rather than—however it is we’ve been speaking, or not speaking, of late? Do hear me out. I know I owe you an apology, and I’d be damned grateful if you’d accept it.”
Kit regarded him in silence for a moment, listening to the faint tick of the clock in the hall and the crackle of the dying fire. Turner didn’t press, merely looked back at him. In the quiet, he filled his lungs slowly and let out the last of his nervous energy. Could Turner be trusted? Possibly not, but Kit knew, all too well, the pain and shame of never receiving a second chance, of being cast aside as unworthy.
Not that Kit’s bad opinion could be anywhere near as important to Turner as the scorn of the world had been to Kit, after his father’s ruin. But refusing Turner’s olive branch would still be rank hypocrisy. Kit would rather be wrong, and suffer for it in the end, than turn up his nose at the gesture. He had already made that mistake with Turner, and despite his anger the guilt of it lingered.
There was no way forward but honesty.
“I will accept it, of course, if you can reassure me that no such incident will take place in future. Mr. Turner—”
“Just Turner, please, if you would.”
Too late, Kit realized he had already availed himself of that less formal mode of address, without even noticing. He could hardly refuse now. “Turner, then. And the same, if you like.” Turner nodded, looking pleased. “I don’t want to discuss it again, particularly, but you need to understand.” Kit forced himself to look Turner in the eyes. “It was not just that fellow’s behavior, but the feeling that you had set me up to be made a fool of.”
Turner sat up, looking at once far more serious than Kit had ever seen him. “Hewlett, I swear to you, on my honor as an officer, that I didnotintend any such thing. I’ll admit I wanted to shake you out of your rut a bit, even shock you a little. It wasn’t a plan that does me any credit, and I’m ashamed of it. But you have my word that I did hope you’d enjoy yourself, once you adjusted to the idea. I could have told the others you were my secretary, but I didn’t. Not because I hoped they’d mistake you for—something else, but because I didn’t want you to feel as if you were there on sufferance. I thought you could attend not as Mr. Hewlett, my man of business, but as just Hewlett, another gentleman among his equals.”
Kit absorbed that, giving Turner’s words—apparently sincere as they were—due consideration. It was indeed not a plan that cast Turner in a particularly good light. Did not that make it more likely that he spoke the truth?
And it wasn’t Turner’s fault that he’d unwittingly struck upon one of Kit’s greatest regrets: his loss of intelligent society, men whowerehis equals in education and knowledge of the world.
As if he had divined the workings of Kit’s mind, Turner said, “I know you must sometimes feel isolated here in this house. I hoped you could find some companionship.” He shook his head, that mocking half-smile back in place. The mockery appeared to be aimed entirely at himself. “Clearly my estimate of your preferences was off the mark.”
That was, of course, not entirely true. The companionship of a like-minded man whose preferences also matched Kit’s would be—an impossible dream, in all likelihood.
“I thank you for your concern, Turner,” he said dryly, “but in future I beg you will not act upon it.”
“You have my word.” Turner cleared his throat. “Pax? Shake hands?”
Kit couldn’t help rolling his eyes, but he stood and stretched out his hand all the same. “I think I’ve done this once, in fourth form.”
Turner stood too, a grin lighting his face. “I think I may have fought rather more than you, Hewlett, because I’ve had to cry pax a score of times.”
He reached out and clasped Kit’s hand with his own. Kit had never thought of his hands as being particularly sensitive; he wouldn’t have described any part of himself that way. But as Turner’s callused, work-roughened fingers, so unlike the soft hands of the gentleman of leisure Turner’s tailored coats and his brandy made him out to be, wrapped around Kit’s and rubbed against his own softer skin, his nerves lit like firecrackers. They fizzed beneath his skin and shot sparks of sensation along his arm and all through his body.
All the while Turner’s eyes never left his, their blue as clear and pure and honest as a winter sky.
Kit squeezed Turner’s hand once, and then jerked his own away. His throat felt dry and scratchy, as if he’d poured sand in his mouth. Turner hesitated a moment, his own hand still outstretched between them, before he slowly pulled it back.
“We have an understanding, then?” Turner asked. “I shan’t attempt to force you into the delightful society of my boon companions, and we are no longer at odds?”
“We do,” Kit replied, and forced a smile. “And—should you feel that you still require it, you have my forgiveness. Freely.”
“I’m glad of it,” Turner said softly, with a smile of his own. “And now I think you’ve earned a rest, Hewlett. Off to bed with you, or to do something other than muck about with my investments. I’ll join you here in the morning, and you can attempt to force some of your wisdom into my thick head.” Turner strolled across the room to the sideboard and took up the decanter. “I think I’ll stay here by the fire for a time. Sleep well.”
The clear dismissal stung, just a little, enough for Kit to understand how very dangerous it might be to argue against it. If he asked Turner to pour him a drink, he would. And Kit would take the seat opposite him by the fireplace, and become a little foxed, and then—and then.
“You as well,” he said quietly, and fled.
