Reid’s gaze was steady. “It’s worth considering. Redford probably won’t be how you remember him. Only think how much you have changed in the last two decades. I know I’m a different man from who I was twenty years ago.”
It occurred to Henry then, for the first time, that he may not like the new Christopher—and that the new Christopher may not like him. That they might find each other sadly lacking in comparison to the memories they had of the young men they had once been.
Memories were such crude and unreliable things.
Henry shook his head. That didn’t matter. This wasn’t about satisfying his curiosity about Christopher—thought he was, of course, curious. It was about righting a wrong that he was responsible for. He wouldn’t shirk from that. If he had breached his agreement with Christopher—even inadvertently—it was up to him to make good the deficit.
He met Reid’s eyes and said quietly, “I’m quite sure.”
Soon after that, Reid took his leave, promising to return with Christopher’s direction as soon as possible.
Henry spent the rest of evening brooding over his memories of Christopher, and trying to envisage what he would be like now.
Ever since his last interview with Jean-Jacques, he’d been tormented by the thought of Christopher being thrown out of the little house in Paddington Green. They had been so happy there, in the limited time they had spent together.
Well, Henry had been happy.
Perhaps that was all it had ever been. Perhaps Christopher had only ever been performing his duties. Tolerating the attentions of the man who put a roof over his head, paid his bills, and put money in his pocket.
It was a depressing thought, but it was one that Henry could not shake as he stared into the fire and made his way through more of the brandy bottle than was wise.
9
Kit
On Friday afternoon, Kit was writing a letter in his private sitting room, when Tom burst into the room, his eyes wide.
“Kit, you’ll never guess who’s here!” he gasped.
Kit looked up from his writing slope. “Tom,” he said wearily. “Footmen do not enter rooms without knocking. Nor do they—”
He got no further as Tom blurted out, “There’s only a bleeding duke here to see you!”
Kit’s mouth dropped open. Not Henry? Not here?
“Sorry,” Tom said hurriedly, straightening himself up. In a more dignified tone, he added, “His grace, the Duke of Avesbury is here to see you, sir.”
For several long moments, Kit could only stare at Tom, his heart racing, and when his voice came out it was shaky. “I beg your pardon?”
“His grace, the duke—”
“Sorry, no, I heard you—I’m just—just rather shocked.” Kit forced himself to take a deep breath, hating the audible shudder in his exhalation that Tom could not fail to notice.
“Did you show him into the drawing room?” he asked.
“Yes, and I asked if he’d like some tea, but he said no.” Tom paused and bit his lip. “Is that all right? Did I do the wrong thing? He swore he knew you. If he’s a fake, I’ll chuck him out, you just say the word.” Tom didn’t look quite as confident as his words suggested. Tom was a big fellow but Henry was bigger… wasn't he?
Kit frowned. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure how reliable his memories were.
“Kit?” Tom said uncertainly. “Do you—do you want me to ask this cove to leave?”
“No, no,” he said. “I’ll see him.” He offered Tom a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. I know Avesbury—or at least I did, a long time ago. I’m just surprised he came here, that’s all.”
Tom’s expression was pure relief.
“Tell him I’ll be along in just a few minutes, once I’m properly attired.” Kit was wearing a pale-yellow silk banyan, embroidered with tiny blue flowers, and he would not be receiving Henry in it, thank you very much. If the man was prepared to call on him after eighteen years without so much as sending a note, he could kick his heels for a few minutes while Kit made himself halfway presentable.
Tom nodded and left to deliver the message.
Kit shook his head, remembering how eager he used to be to see Henry. Back then, he’d have run down the stairs in naught but his drawers to have a few more moments with the man.
He shook his head at his own past foolishness. God, he’d thought himself so desperately in love.
Realising his heart was racing, Kit took a deep breath and forced himself to