a dozen horses were sent to auction. Funds were set aside for the building of schools and poorhouses, along with an endowment to keep them going for a generation. Public opinion was divided as to whether Percy had done these things to spite his dead father or because he had gone quite mad.
The second peculiar thing was that Kit returned from walking Betty home to find a note on his pillow.
“Stop fretting. I’m not dead. Tell your gent that Lady M isn’t dead, either, as she doesn’t seem disposed to do so herself. And for God’s sake, call off the hunt. Much love, R,” the note read, in Rob’s handwriting.
When Kit showed it to Percy that night, he studied it for a long minute. “I can’t be certain, but I think it’s the same handwriting as the blackmail letters. The way the ink blots at the tail of the R and M is distinctive. I might wish for a reassurance slightly more enthusiastic than ‘not dead’ but it was kind for your friend to put my mind at ease.” He said kind as if it were a complicated foreign word, as if his tongue and lips didn’t want to shape themselves around it, and Kit knew that Percy was trying to tell Kit that he intended to be civil to Rob and about Rob.
“I saw that you’re selling some horses,” Kit said.
Percy wrinkled his nose. “How do the papers learn these things so quickly? Yes, I’m selling everything that isn’t nailed down. Including Balius, who I can only hope will be as mean and ill-tempered to his new owner as he was to me. Good riddance, and all that.”
Kit had seen Percy croon to and cosset that stallion and didn’t for a minute believe that Percy was taking his loss well. He had little lines around his eyes hinting that whatever divesting half the Clare estate entailed, it was not easy on him. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested. “I’ll stand you a pint.”
As they were getting into their cloaks, Betty came over and touched Percy’s shoulder. “Please come back and put him out of his misery,” she said. “Do it for me? You should see how he’s been pining. It’s scaring away the customers.”
“Christ on a cross, Betty, go away,” Kit said, his cheeks heating.
“Since when do you even like me?” Percy asked.
“Who said I did?” Betty answered, blowing him a kiss.
It was cold, the first night of the year that made it impossible to pretend that winter wasn’t waiting around the corner. Their breaths clouded the air in front of them, mingling with the smoke and fog that drifted through the streets. It was, objectively, a foul night, but Kit had a sense of hopeful exhilaration that he hadn’t experienced since that fresh green springtime he courted Jenny. He had been little more than a boy then, and hadn’t known how rare and precious that sort of feeling was. Now he was jaded enough to know that most people never knew what it was like to take a walk side by side with the person they liked best in the world.
“Mind if we stop in here?” Kit asked when they passed the stable where he kept Bridget. It was a little warmer inside, thanks to a brazier the pair of stable boys were using to warm their hands. The boys looked up, recognized Kit, and wordlessly waved him in.
“Her name is Bridget,” Kit said when they reached the right stall. “I can’t ride her as fast as she likes, but she puts up with me anyway. You’re welcome to make use of her as much as you like.”
“Thank you. That’s—”
“She’s my horse, mind. I’m not making a present of her.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Percy laughed.
“You hear me, Bridget,” Kit said, holding out his hand for her to nuzzle, “you’re still mine. You can be as rude as you please to Percy, and he’ll only think it’s a sign of good breeding.” Percy leaned against him a little, shoulder to shoulder, just enough so Kit could feel his warmth and a comforting bit of pressure.
At the tavern, they tucked themselves into a dark, snug corner. Kit waited until Percy was finishing his second pint, his limbs just starting to get a bit loose and the careworn lines easing from his face.
“So, what happens on January first?” Kit asked. His own pint was only a quarter empty, and he held the tankard between his palms, the pewter warming