Page 5 of Once a Gentleman
Chapter Three
The frisson of anticipation running up and down Andrew’s spine had no rational basis. He was quite aware of that. And yet—and yet. He knew Hewlett was in the house, had been for an hour or more, and that nagging, gnawing sensation simply would not fade until Andrew had seen him in the flesh.
Perhaps that was not the best way to think of it. In person. That was rather better, as Andrew didn’t need to greet the poor fellow with a cockstand that could hold up a mainsail.
His first impression had been poor. He knew it, and he wished to make up for it. Though Hewlett surely entertained doubts—and who could blame him, after the way Andrew had behaved the day before?—Andrew had hired a secretary, not a whore. Andrew was a gentleman, and an officer in the Royal Navy, and his intentions were, if not pure, then at least honest. Hewlett had not been born, educated, or for that matter suited by nature to the station in which Andrew had found him, that was obvious. And Andrew hated waste in all forms. Hewlett deserved better, and more to the point, he could do better, for the organization of Andrew’s business affairs if not for Andrew himself.
Samuel would bring him soon, and Andrew paced the length of the study, examining it with as critical an eye as he could, given that household arrangements were hardly his strongest suit. Aboard his ship, the smallest speck of salt marring a brass fitting would catch his eye; the slightest irregularity in the coil of a rope would stand out like a beacon.
Here, he was far less confident in his ability to discern what was correct. He had given orders that the furniture should be polished, that everything was to be put in order. It looked well enough to him.
Hopefully it looked well enough to Hewlett, and the man would feel welcome. God only knew Andrew was far enough from respectable, but at least his study could be made so.
Andrew had given orders to take Hewlett one of his coats, as well, the one that had been made to the wrong measurements and wouldn’t fit over Andrew’s shoulders, and that he’d never troubled to send back. Samuel had tact and address, and he would surely see to it that Hewlett took the gesture as it was intended: as friendly hospitality, from one gentleman to another who was his guest.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Andrew straightened his own coat, frantically made sure that his trouser placket was all the way buttoned, and then tried to assume a natural pose. His hands felt far too large, and he had no idea where to put them. Where did he usually put them? Oh, the devil.
There was a quick knock, the door opened, and Hewlett stepped through, pink-cheeked and utterly fetching. Andrew had hoped he had exaggerated Hewlett’s attractions, but no—no such luck. He was far more appealing, even, than Andrew remembered.
Although the man hadn’t even unbent sufficiently to wear the coat, despite his obvious lack of a gentleman’s wardrobe. Andrew did his best to ignore the flash of hurt that caused and to harden his heart instead. Very well. If Hewlett disapproved of Andrew to the extent of refusing a harmless, friendly gesture, then it would behoove Andrew to rein in any nascent hopes. There were dozens of appealing men, not to mention the ladies, available at an hour’s notice.
He did not need Hewlett in that capacity.
He would employ a secretary, and he would be a man about it, damn it.
The study proved to be a surprisingly large and gracious room, considering how little Turner likely used it, given his claims of hopelessness at business matters. Two southeast windows looked out on the back garden, making the room ideally suited for working in the morning’s natural light. A broad teak desk with carved legs and an immaculately polished top filled the space by the windows, and a comfortable-looking sofa and two chairs occupied the center, before the fireplace.
Turner stood beside the desk, and as Kit approached he caught the scent of lemon oil. Faint streaks were visible on the edges of the desk where the oil hadn’t yet dried. The desk, then, was not always so immaculate.
Could this be for his benefit? It was all so very odd.
“Mr. Hewlett, how delightful to see you,” Turner said. “I hope your accommodations are adequate.”
He sounded every bit the genial host, not a trace of sarcasm or condescension to be found. Kit wished he could sink through the floor. “I was not expecting such comfort, Mr. Turner.” And then he cursed himself, for that made it sound as if he’d expected Turner to put him in a drafty attic somewhere, or that he’d thought the house would be a shambles. Had less than two years truly been long enough to erode every social grace he’d once possessed? “I mean only that it’s been some time since I had such a pleasant room. There was no need to put me in a chamber that your guests might wish to enjoy.”
Turner only smiled, but it had an edge to it that put Kit on his guard. “Did you, perchance, expect the rattling of chains, cobwebs strung in every corner, and the moans of a ghostly monk?”
“I beg your—are you quite—I beg your pardon?” Kit stammered. Had Turner read his mind? Had he been watching, somehow, as Kit so mortifyingly inspected his bedchamber for hidden entrances? Ought he to have been searching for peepholes instead?
“I have no grudge against foolish novels, Mr. Hewlett. On the contrary. I expect I’ve read every one in stock at your erstwhile place of employment. And I know very well in what role Mrs. Radcliffe would cast me, had she the opportunity.” Kit swallowed and looked away. “I saw the way you looked at me when I offered you this position,” Turner went on, more gently. Kindly, almost. So much so that Kit felt every sort of fool. “I make no pretense. I am not a respectable man. But you are entirely safe in this house, and with me. You have my word.”
“I need no such assurance,” Kit retorted, stung. Doubly so, since his reservations had almost kept him from taking the position at all. And, of course, the tapping on the walls. Good Lord. “Youmay not be the villain of a Gothic romance, butIam hardly a swooning maiden in need of a chaperone.”
With a shrug, Turner spun on his heel and made for the sideboard, where several decanters stood on a silver tray—that badly in need of a polish, Kit couldn’t help but note.
“Then I shan’t trouble to offer any such a second time,” Turner said, his tone clipped. “Now, if you’ll join me in a brandy, perhaps we can discuss your duties, and then I’ll show you where to find my principal correspondence.”
Kit’s stomach balled into a miserable knot. Perhaps he had misjudged Turner on their first meeting, or perhaps he had simply judged him inadequately, without allowing for more facets to the man than had immediately appeared. Either way, Turner had just now offered him a chance to start afresh, and Kit had ruined it. Refusing to accept his word? Kit was lucky Turner hadn’t demanded satisfaction after all.
As the first step into a new life, it was inauspicious. Kit swallowed and forced a smile. He wouldn’t usually take spirits so early in the day, or really at all as he disliked the taste, but he knew how bourgeois such a preference would seem to Turner. He’d already given terrible offense. Best not to compound it. He accepted the brandy, and sipped at it with a grimace he tried to hide.
I need no such assurance.Andrew turned quickly to the sideboard to hide the humiliation mounting in his chest and pressing behind his eyes. His word, disregarded with such contempt…the insult rankled.
He poured out the brandy carelessly, slopping far too much into his own glass. Hewlett would no doubt think him a drunkard, as well as dishonorable and quite possibly a would-be rapist. Let him. Though Hewlett’s bright green eyes and neat figure would inspire hopes in men less omnivorous than Andrew, he wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. Not enough to trouble himself over.
And it wasn’t as if he required Hewlett’s esteem or friendship, either, even if he’d spent the night before wondering rather pathetically how a real smile would look on Hewlett’s plush lips. And that was ridiculous, because the fellow was his secretary, and Andrew had given him that position out of pity and guilt.
Andonlypity and guilt. That was bloody well all there was to it.
