Jean-Jacques held up a hand. “That is all I can tell you. It is for Kit to decide what else to share with you after everything that happened.”
Everything that happened?
“What do you mean?” Henry said faintly. “What happened? Other than my going back to Wiltshire?”
He caught another betraying flicker of emotion in Jean-Jacques’s eyes.
Disgust.
Henry had known Jean-Jacques as a pert, provocative prostitute, given to sharp observations and sly humour. He had been outspoken in those days. Now he was reserved, careful. A respectable business proprietor with much to lose at the hands of a powerful aristocrat.
“There is nothing more I can say,” he said. “You must speak to Kit if you want to know more.”
And God, but there was some story here, Henry realised sickly. Something he did not know about from his own past.
“Can you give me his direction then?” Henry asked. Was that really his voice, asking for Kit’s direction? Was he really considering doing something he had sworn he would never do?
Jean-Jacques stared at him for several moments, then he shook his head. “I cannot do that, but I will pass on the message that you would like to meet, if you wish. Then it will be for Kit to decide.”
Henry nodded, his heart racing. “I will come back on Thursday for his answer,” he said. “If that suits?”
Jean-Jacques nodded. “Very well.”
He conducted Henry back out into the tea room then immediately excused himself. After another minute, Jean-Jacques’s daughter arrived with the pastries, all neatly tied up in paper and string. Henry paid and left, and returned to the carriage.
He smiled distractedly as Marianne chattered all the way back to Curzon Street, but the whole time he was thinking of Christopher.
Wondering what it was that Jean-Jacques would not tell him.
5
Kit
Kit did not like to rush his mornings. Since he was generally at the club till very late, he rarely rose before ten and would usually enjoy a leisurely breakfast and read the newspapers before he got to work.
And so it was that, when there was a rap at the dining room door at eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning, he was still wearing his favourite turquoise dressing gown as he sipped his fourth cup of tea and perused an article about the upcoming general election.
“Come in.”
Tom, resplendent in his new footman garb, opened the door and announced, “Mee-syoo-mer-see to see you, sir.”
Kit frowned, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”
But already his guest—Monsieur Mercier, Kit saw—was strolling past Tom and setting two beautifully-wrapped boxes of cakes on the table while Tom bowed solemnly and withdrew.
“Jean-Jacques,” Kit said, smiling warmly. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Jean-Jacques replied, tossing up the tails of his coat as he sat himself down. “The cakes are from Evie.”
“Do you need such a fancy piece?” Jean-Jacques asked, one eyebrow raised. His French accent was still very thick, despite a quarter of a century in London. “Though I admit, I see the appeal—this one is handsome as a god. Are you…?” He trailed off with a suggestive look.
Kit rolled his eyes at the predictable response. Everyone who walked through his door panted after Tom.
“No,” he said. “He was working at the club before this, but he doesn’t lean that way. He wanted to get out of the game, so I agreed to let him come here and learn on the job, as it were. Clara’s teaching him his letters and numbers in the evenings.”
Six months from now, Tom would have choices. Choices were everything, but sometimes you needed someone to give you an opportunity, a way to get on the right path before life beat you down too much to change.
“A pity,” Jean-Jacques observed. Then he waved his hand in an airy, dismissive gesture. “Well, never mind. Plenty more fish in the lake, yes?”
Kit sighed. “I’m not looking for a—fish.”
“Everyone needs a fish,” Jean-Jacques said kindly. “It is a fact of life. We are pairing creatures, like swans, or—”
“Jean-Jacques,” Kit interrupted, reaching forward to pat his hand. “I don’t know whether I’m a man or a fish or a bird at this point. But whatever I am, I can assure you I’m quite happy on my own. Now, tell me this: to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Jean-Jacques had been his usual merry self until Kit asked that question, but now a troubled expression crossed his face. He had a most expressive face, and