Page 21 of Once a Gentleman
“And if I don’t invite the Finnegans—”
Kit pushed to his feet, abruptly out of patience, even the exaggerated sort. “Turner, will you please for God’s sakebe silentand listen?”
Turner stopped short, staring at Kit as if he’d grown a second head, and miracle of miracles, he did fall silent, though his mouth hung open in an inelegant gape. Kit let a moment pass—just to make his point.
“As I was saying. Find someone else suitably above reproach, a married man with a respectable wife, and invite that couple for Thursday. It must be someone who will come at such short notice.” It was already Tuesday, and God only knew what Turner had been thinking, issuing the invitation and promising other guests with only two days to spare. “And then you will write to Mr. Harrison and apologize, telling him that the Finnegans were unable to come and that you have invited these other people, whoever they are, to make up the table. And that you hope he won’t find their company objectionable. Tell him that if he does, you will ask him to kindly name another day that Mrs. Harrison would prefer.”
Turner blinked at him, and Kit fought the urge to look away, to fidget with the pen he’d lain down. “Really, Hewlett. Youareclever.”
“It’s merely one possible solution,” Kit mumbled, now fighting the tide of heat that swept up his neck and into his cheeks.
“An excellent solution. I’m a little bereft of respectable acquaintances, though, particularly sufficiently intimate ones to have to dinner in two days’ time. But I’ll find someone—on one condition.”
Oh, no. “I don’t see how setting conditions could assist you in rectifying a mistake you yourself have made.”
Turner cocked a single eyebrow, a gesture Kit found infuriating, not least because he could not himself achieve it. An hour before a mirror had confirmed as much. Kit would be stretched on the rack before he’d admit to it.
“Ah, but you see, itwillassist me. Clearly I’m not to be trusted in the company of respectable people, and need someone to prompt me, or perhaps kick me under the table, should I err.”
A flash of rage nearly blinded him for a moment, and he blinked it away, fists clenched. So. It had taken all of three days for Turner to break his promise, to attempt to maneuver him into something he didn’t want—
“Respectable people, Hewlett,” Turner said, gently but with an edge of something else. Offense, perhaps. “The kind even you might not be ashamed to meet.”
Kit straightened his spine and glared. “Even I? Have I set myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue, Turner?”
“No, but a moment ago you looked ready to commit murder at the idea of sitting through a dinner with one or more dull officers and their dull and virtuous wives.” Turner ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed and flopping onto his brow, and then set his fists on his hips. Was that the posture he assumed when dressing down his crew? “Which I grant is a rational response, but I suspect the possibility of dying of ennui wasn’t your reason for it.”
“If they’re so very dull, then why have them to dinner at all?” Kit snapped.
He expected some flippancy, or mockery, or for Turner to refuse to answer the question entirely. Instead, Turner looked down, a pink flush glowing through the skin of his tanned cheeks, and said quietly, “Harrison deserves more courtesy than I’ve shown him. I saw myself today, through his eyes, and wasn’t pleased by the view.”
Kit swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. Had he really imagined Turner had no feelings at all? Impossible now to believe he had been so blind, in the face of this oddly vulnerable confession.
“And how do you intend to explain my presence to your guests?” he asked gently.
Turner looked up sharply, his eyes gleaming. “That means you’ll come?” Kit could only nod. “In that case, your presence requires no explanation at all. You’re a gentleman, and you reside in the house. Of course you would be at the dinner table.” Turner paused, and then added, “And I thank you, most sincerely. Your company will be very welcome, and I think you’ll like Harrison. He’s a good fellow, just as you are.”
Warmth spread through Kit’s chest. He allowed himself to enjoy it, that simple feeling of being wanted and accepted that he had lacked since he fled Oxford for his father’s estate in Hertfordshire, knowing that he went only to face the ruins of his life for the last time.
That warmth lingered enough that he felt it possible to tease. “Is ‘good fellow’ a euphemism for dull and virtuous, Turner? I don’t think I ought to be terribly flattered by the comparison.”
Turner flashed him a wicked grin that transformed his face into something impossibly handsome and made Kit’s vision blur for a moment, as if Turner were a light too bright to look at. “Be as flattered as you wish, Hewlett. And when you meet Harrison, you can judge for yourself what I meant by the comparison.”
“Oh, very well,” Kit said a little breathlessly. “Be off with you, then. I believe you have two dinner guests to procure.”
“Ought I to send a press-gang? It might be more efficient.”
“Are you truly so short of friends that you would need one?” Kit laughed, but it died away at the expression on Turner’s face. “Forgive me, I meant that only in jest.”
“It’s no matter.”
But it was, quite obviously. An awkward moment passed, and Kit bit his lip, considering. “You could always stop in at the Naval Office and see if any half-pay officers of your acquaintance are haunting the place. I’ve no doubt one of them would welcome a dinner at your expense.”
Turner brightened at that. “Not a bad idea. Very well, Hewlett, I will see you this evening, and I’ll come bearing good news.”
And with that, he bowed and departed, leaving Kit less sure of himself than he had been for a very long time.
