to the place had begun to wane. Perhaps it was partly because, over the last several years, he had become much more financially comfortable. He’d finally paid off a sizeable loan he’d taken on when he’d opened the club, and several investments he’d made had done very well indeed. He now had a nice cushion of capital that was enough to provide a comfortable income on its own, quite aside from Redford’s.
Moreover, since taking Clara on, he didn’t have to be such a constant presence at the club. It had taken him some time to let go his iron grip on every detail of the business, but slowly, gradually, he was getting there. In the last year, as he had begun to lean more heavily on Clara, he had discovered he had time again. Time to visit old friends. Time to go walking in his favourite spots—down by the Serpentine and around Green Park, even all the way up to Hampstead Heath a time or two.
He’d begun to secretly draw a little, carrying little notebooks and pencils with him that he’d pull out when he sat down by the river or under a tree to idly sketch whatever little things he might spot: a simple flower, a horse chestnut bristling out of its prickly coat, a waterfowl floating docilely down the river.
The annoying thing was that, the more time he had to himself, the more time he wanted. He’d even found himself wondering whether he needed to attend Redford’s as often as he did in the evenings—something he’d once considered vital, reasoning that his members needed to see him to trust him.
Kit was so deep in his thoughts, he didn’t realise he’d arrived home.
The door swung open before he could so much as place a finger upon it, and Tom stood in the doorway, grinning. Six foot one inch of pure muscle, his teeth flashing white, his perfect smile only very faintly marred—or perhaps perfected—by the slight crookedness of his left front tooth.
“What d’ye think, guv?” he asked Kit, blue eyes sparkling.
Kit blinked at him, not understanding. “What do I think of what?”
Tom huffed in exasperation. “The new livery!” he exclaimed, gesturing at the ensemble gracing his form: midnight-blue coat and breeches trimmed with dark-gold braid and large gold buttons.
“Oh, of course!” Kit said, stepping back to admire him more fully. “Oh, yes, Tom, that’s very handsome indeed. The dark blue is wonderful with your eyes.” He stepped forward to stroke the lapel of the coat, then clapped Tom on the shoulder and smiled. “Now you look the part.”
“I reckon so,” Tom said, standing aside to let Kit enter, then closing the door after them and following Kit into the hall. “Give me your hat, guv.”
Kit cocked a brow at him. “Give me your hat, guv? Hmm. You’ve a bit of work to do before I can say you’re acting the part.” He took his hat off and handed it to Tom. “Are you really sure you want to do this footman lark?”
Tom flushed slightly. “Course I do.” he said. “Standing around looking handsome is right up my street—don’t need no brains for it, do I? I know I forgot to talk right when you come in just now, but that’s just on account of me getting a bit giddy over my new garb.” He cleared his throat decisively, then added in a quieter and more polished voice, “May I take your hat, sir?”
Kit quirked a smile. “That’s much better, but for the record, I disagree with you on the brains bit. Clara and I have rumbled you—you’re very quick.”
Tom flushed with pleasure. “I don’t know about that, but don’t worry—if it’s true, I can hide it.”
Kit chuckled.
“Anyways, I reckon it’ll be easier for me to remember how to behave, now I’ve got the proper duds,” Tom continued. “Should keep me right.”
Kit clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. But keep up the lessons with Clara. It won’t do you any harm. Now, I’m going up to my sitting room. Could you ask Mrs. Saunders to send up some tea?”
“Right-o, guv.” Tom cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, sir.”
Kit suppressed a sigh. However bright the man was—and Clara thought he was very bright indeed, notwithstanding his complete illiteracy—the role of footman was plainly not coming easily to him.
Kit made his way upstairs to the small, cosy room that was his own private space. The house had a formal drawing room too, where they could receive visitors, but when he was