Page 73 of Restored

“I’m sorry to have interrupted your day,” Henry said. “I can come back later if you’d rather.”

Kit shook his head. “No, no, you’re here now. Come in.”

He turned on his heel, leaving Henry to follow him.

Was he annoyed, Henry wondered? He didn’t seem to be, but then Kit had never been one for shows of temper.

By the time they entered the house, there was no sign of Mrs. Marsden or her son—presumably they’d gone in search of the man called Tom.

“We’ll go up to my private sitting room,” Kit said, mounting the stairs. After climbing two flights, Kit led Henry down a short corridor and into a small, much less formal room than the drawing room Henry had been shown into before.

“Take a seat,” Kit said. “Would you like some tea?”

Henry shook his head. “No, thank you.” He settled himself into a small armchair, then immediately wished he’d selected the large chaise longue instead, just to see if Kit would sit beside him. “This is nice,” he said. “Very cosy.”

“I don’t have many visitors up here,” Kit said. “It’s where I come when I need quiet time.”

Henry felt a warm glow at that—that Kit was allowing him access to this private space of his.

“Do Mrs. Marsden and her son live here too?” he asked carefully.

Kit smiled, seeming mildly amused. “They do.”

“When I first saw you together I thought—wondered, I mean—if you and she were…”

“—married?” Kit completed for him. “People often assume that. And no. We are merely friends.”

“So Peter is…?”

Kit sent him a dry look at the blatant fishing. “Not mine. Officially, we say Clara is my sister, and a widow.”

“And unofficially?”

“She works for me—I took her in at the time she most needed help. Now she’s a very good friend. I consider her and Peter my family, and he is, officially, my godson.”

Henry nodded. “She was an unwed mother then?”

“Through no fault of her own. She’s an educated woman. She had a position as a governess but was raped by the oldest son of the family.”

Henry grimaced. It was an all too common story.

“I’d put up a notice for a junior clerk for Redford’s and she turned up,” Kit said. “She seemed to be such a genteel young lady. I was in the process of telling her she wasn’t quite what I had in mind when she fainted, and I discovered her condition. When she came around, she confessed that she hadn’t been eating, and that her position was quite desperate.”

“So, you gave her the job?”

“I did. And then, when I discovered where she was living, I invited her to move into my private apartments in the club. Once Peter was born, I bought this house—Redford’s is not a suitable place to bring up an infant.” Kit smiled crookedly. “I should know—I was brought up in a brothel.”

Henry stared at him, unable to think what to say to that. It was ridiculous to be taken aback—probably many people in Kit’s situation had similar backgrounds—but somehow Henry had never considered that.

“Your mother?” he managed at last.

“She was a prostitute. She worked at the Golden Lily.”

“The same place—” Henry broke off, and Kit laughed at whatever he saw on his face.

“Yes, the same place where we met.”

“Didn't you tell me you ran away from home?” Henry said faintly.