Page 49 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“Percy,” Kit said. He didn’t feel any pressing need to explain who Percy was—or, rather, who his father was. Rob was alreadygoing to think that Kit was out of his mind for getting friendly with an aristocrat, and it would be infinitely worse if he knew that Percy’s father was the Duke of Clare.
“Whoever he is, he did not look pleased with you when he left last night. People don’t much care for being referred to as unimportant.”
Kit winced, remembering his own words. But if Percy had become upset by being called unimportant, that was everything but an admission that he wanted to be important to Kit. And that thought made Kit’s heart leap with hope. He wanted to find Percy right that minute and apologize, but it would have to wait until his leg settled down.
Throughout the morning, even though it was a Sunday and the shop was closed, people stopped by as word spread that Rob had returned. By the evening there was a festive mood at the coffeehouse, with people Kit hadn’t seen in over a year coming in to visit Rob. Every time the door opened, Kit turned, hoping that it would be Percy, even though he knew how unlikely that was. Kit was surrounded by nearly everyone he knew, but the person he most wanted to see was across town, in a fine house, an entire world away from Kit.
Even Janet stopped by, a swaddled baby in her arms. He had known she was expecting, but seeing proof of it was still somehow startling. She looked well, though—tired, but plumper than he had ever seen her.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job,” Kit said, taking the baby from her and cradling him against his chest. The child was an insubstantial weight, still at the stage where it seemed like a stiff wind might carry him away. He settled his hand more firmly at the baby’s back.
She gave him a dour look. “Do I look like I’ll be climbing into trees any time soon? And I’d like to know how to shoot an arrow with these in the way,” she said, gesturing at her chest. “I told you to talk to Hattie from the fair.”
Kit hummed his agreement and turned his nose into the baby’s head, breathing in the smell of milk and fresh linens and whatever else made babies smell the way they did. “What’s his name?”
“Sam. Not that we’ve got around to christening him yet.”
Hannah hadn’t been christened, either. Kit couldn’t make himself do it alone, not with Jenny in prison. And then, after everything, it was the least of his concerns. “That’s a good name,” he made himself say. “Go on and let me look after him for a bit. If he needs you, I reckon you’ll hear him holler.”
Janet, who maybe knew something about Kit’s past, or maybe just saw something in his face, or maybe just was grateful to have a few minutes without the baby, leaned over and kissed Kit’s cheek before vanishing into the throng.
Somebody produced a bottle of gin, and somebody else arrived with a stack of pies. Baby Sam still sleeping on his shoulder, Kit carefully lowered himself into a chair. The child startled slightly at the movement, and Kit patted his back, whispering hushing noises into his ear.
Betty came over with a tankard of ale. “You all right?” she asked.
“Not quite over the shock,” he admitted. “You?”
“He’s lucky I haven’t broken his nose. Has he told you where he was all this time, other than that it was a secret?”
Kit shook his head.
“I’ll tell you, I don’t like it.”
Kit stayed silent for a while, thinking only of the slow breathing of the child in his arms. “Neither do I,” he finally said. He wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to express how glad he was to have Rob back, but how profoundly uneasy he felt about it. It crossed his mind that what he really wanted was to speak to Percy; Percy, he felt certain, would understand what it was like when a thread of distrust worked its way through love. Kit imagined what it would be like to be able to unburden himself to Percy, and even for Percy to be able to do the same to Kit. It felt out of reach, miles away from their tentative alliance, miles away from what they had done together the previous night.
But he wanted it, and he thought Percy did, too. He didn’t know if they’d manage it, but Kit intended to try.
Chapter35
It was beginning to occur to Percy that highway robbery was only going to be the beginning of his life of crime, because he was also going to need to dip his toes into the world of kidnapping. He wouldn’t put it past the duke to attempt to keep Marian from Eliza. Spiriting her away was not the problem—even as loud and inclined to wriggle as she was, she could be concealed under a cloak and then—well, Percy hadn’t the faintest idea what one did with children, even if one acquired them by more traditional means than kidnapping.
“You’re admirably portable,” he told her. “We at least have that working in our favor.” She responded, as per custom, by making a noise that sounded like “fffff” and squeezing his finger in her fat little fist.
“Yes, quite,” he agreed.
Percy had sent the nursery maid back to bed and could hear her soft snores through the closed door. He could simply walk out of the house with the baby in his arms and be halfway across town before anyone even noticed the child was missing. He would probably even have time to stop in his rooms and fill his pockets with a handful of valuables.
They could live off that for some time, if he could figure out how people lived in an ordinary sort of way. He could ask Kit how one went about hiring rooms and acquiring food and milk. He was extremely cross with Kit at the moment but didn’t doubt that the man would have no problem being an accessory to kidnapping—not under these circumstances, at least. How very humbling, needing to ask for lessons in how to live like a normal person.
Eliza made a rude noise, and Percy raised his eyebrows. “Yes, terribly common, I quite agree,” he said, feeling ashamed at the prospect of plunging his sister into obscurity. Because at the very least, even the illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Clare and Lady Marian Hayes ought to live like a lady, not as an anonymous orphan in a shabby set of rooms in some backwater where they would never be discovered.
After returning the baby to her cradle, he began assembling a collection of items for Collins to sell. Three brooches, his least favorite snuffbox, and an ornamental sword that was so badly balanced, it annoyed Percy even to look at it. He didn’t know what kind of price he’d get for those items, and couldn’t even recall what he had paid for any of them in the first place, but he had the sense that they wouldn’t go terribly far in keeping him in the manner to which he had been accustomed. He added a sapphire ring, a set of jeweled dueling pistols, and a small golden looking glass.
It all fit in a small satchel with room to spare, and his apartments were still filled with trinkets and baubles. How much of it did he really need? He had reconciled himself to the loss of his least favorite snuffbox, but what about the other five? He didn’teven like snuff. And how many rings did a man need? He had a dreadful certainty that the answer was zero.
“My lord?” asked Collins when he found Percy kneeling before a small mountain of glittering objects.
“Do you happen to know what it costs to hire a decent set of rooms?”
