His Lordship's Secret

by Samantha SoRelle

  Dominick sighed. “I did accept Lord Crawford’s offer of employment, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “So he’s expecting me.”

  “He may be.”

  Dominick cocked his head to the side, taking in the elderly woman with even greater respect.

  “I could just move you out of my way.”

  “You could,” she agreed. “You won’t.”

  “No. I won’t.”

  Dominick wasn’t sure if there was something about him in particular, or if it was strangers coming into her domain in general that she disapproved of. Alfie had said she liked him, but clearly that wasn’t the case. To be fair, in her place, he wouldn’t have been thrilled to be told that some scrubby-looking man off the streets was going to be keeping Alfie company either.

  He thought of the way she was the only one Alfie had kept on to look after him in his big empty house, and the way she’d fussed at Dominick to make sure Alfie ate enough breakfast.

  “I shouldn’t have tried to butter you up. I see that now. May I speak plainly?”

  At her nod, Dominick continued. “You and I have the same aim, and I see no reason to be at odds. You’ve been looking after Al-Lord Crawford for some time I believe. I’m here to try to do the same. He’s hired me to be his bodyguard for a while, and I want you to know that that is not a task I take lightly. If something happened to him on my watch… If something happened, I’d willingly let you take a frying pan to me or whatever else you’re plotting, because it couldn’t possibly hurt more than failing to protect him.”

  She regarded Dominick for a long moment, long enough that he began to wonder if he’d have to bodily remove her from the doorway after all.

  “Wipe your boots,” she said, turning back into the kitchen, already checking the stove and bending over to pull fresh bread from the oven. “Tea’s on the counter there, take that in before it goes cold. I’ll be along shortly with the vittles.”

  Dominick carefully lifted the tea service and noticed that there were already two teacups waiting upon it.

  ✽✽✽

  “Does Mrs. Hirkins know? About your… questionable origins?” Dominick wiped a bit of egg from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and wondered idly if he had room for one more sausage. He decided he did, and added another to Alfie's plate as well.

  Truly, if Alfie just wanted to pay him in Mrs. Hirkins’ cooking, Dominick would probably be fine with it. Not that he needed payment of any sort to look after Alfie really. It had always been his duty after all, and he was pleased to find he enjoyed Alfie's company just as much now as he had as a child. But he did have to think about the long term. Alfie wouldn’t need him after they caught his attacker, so Dominick would take the money in his pocket, as well as the fine food and better company for as long as they lasted.

  “If she’s ever wondered why a noble child supposedly born in Egypt showed up several weeks after his parents’ return and had an accent straight from the stews with the vocabulary to match, she’s never said anything.”

  Alfie sipped his tea, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She was quite helpful actually. My parents correctly assumed that my lack of education and general knowledge would mark me as different from my chums and hired tutors accordingly, but they were so used to foreign dialects that they never considered what a marker my mouth was.

  “Mrs. Hirkins was the one who taught me the ‘proper’ way to speak, having had to learn herself when she entered service. My parents didn’t think it was an issue at first, but after I called the family cat a poxy whore for stealing my cheese, they conceded she might have a point.”

  Dominick laughed. He couldn’t take credit for Alfie's colourful vocabulary, he’d come to workhouse with a mouth on him that could make a sailor blush, but he’d never discouraged him from speaking that way either. It had been helpful more than once. A bully generally didn’t expect the small, sweet child Alfie had been to have such a blistering mouth. By the time their shock had worn off, Alfie had the precious few seconds he’d needed to get away and find Dominick.

  Dominick glanced over at the mouth in question, then quickly looked away. Perhaps sausages had not been the best idea after all, at least not for his own composure.

  He cleared his throat and searched for another topic. “Where did you want to try today? I was thinking, some booksellers sell paper as well, so we might go ‘round some of those.”

  Alfie shook his head. “A good idea, but I was doing some thinking as well, and I have a different sort of errand I think we need to run before we do any more investigating.”

  “What’s that then?”

  Alfie’s lips twitched before smoothing into an overly bland expression. Dominick didn’t trust the look in his eyes. He knew that look, and it never boded well for him.

  “I’d rather not say until we're there. Think of it as a surprise.”

  Christ.

  Chapter 13

  Alfie smiled to himself as the carriage pulled up in front of the exclusive address, relishing Dominick's look of confusion. He’d worried that that after his imaginings of the night before, he would be too mortified to meet Dominick's eyes over the breakfast table. But the moment the man had walked in, delicate tea tray in hand, all unease had melted from Alfie, replaced with the growing fondness that was swiftly reaching excessive levels. There was something about Dominick that made his constant fears dissolve, or at the very least, seem manageable.

  They alighted from the carriage and Alfie could see the exact moment when Dominick's curiosity got the better of his patience.

  “Getting a new pair of gloves is more important than catching your attacker?” Dominick asked dubiously, staring into the shop windows where several evening suits of the finest quality were displayed on wooden figures.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Alfie replied. “This is a tailor’s, not a glovers. Although thank you for the reminder, we will be sure to visit there next. And I’ll have you know, this is a part of the plan to catch him. Or at least, a way to make the process easier and far less irritating.”

  With that, he strode inside, biting his lip to keep his smile from giving the game away.

  “Lord Crawford! It is an honor to see you again so soon! What can I get for you today? Another waistcoat perhaps? I just yesterday received a bolt of silk in an exquisite fern green that would compliment your complexion wonderfully.” An old man in a somber, but impeccably tailored suit came over and shook Alfie's hand.

  “Perhaps another time, Mr. Bonheur. I’m afraid we’re on a most urgent mission. My friend here has recently had an accident resulting in the loss of his luggage and requires an entirely new wardrobe.”

  Alfie had been watching Dominick in one of the shop’s many mirrors, so as not to miss his reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. Dominick choked on nothing and began to cough. As if by magic, a tailor’s assistant appeared at his side with a freshly poured cup of tea. Dominick waved it off and the young man vanished as if he had never been. But Mr. Bonheur himself was not so easy to dismiss.

  He turned from Alfie as if only just now noticing Dominick's presence and clasped a dramatic hand to his chest. The gesture, combined with the man’s bald head and prodigious side whiskers that seemed to fly away from his face like two startled doves, reminded Alfie of a music hall caricature of the obsequious shopkeep. Despite his antics, he was one of the best in London and had a reputation for both fine work and absolute discretion, both of which Alfie valued extremely highly.

  “You poor man!” Mr. Bonheur gasped. “Waylaid by ruffians were you? Gracious. You must have put up quite the fight! Oh, but you are lucky to have escaped with your life! Please, please come this way. I have several suits in need of just a few alterations that might suffice for the time being, but I must get your measurements first. Just behind the curtain there if you please, thank you.”

  Alfie watched as a still speechless Dominick was herded over to the measuring area of the store. Just before
the curtain to the section was pulled closed, he looked over his shoulder and glared daggers at Alfie. Alfie smiled cheerfully in response, although certain parts of his anatomy took careful note of what Dominick looked like angry and stern for later contemplation.

  He sat on one of the plush chairs provided for waiting customers and took a moment to look around the shop. Bonheur et Fils Tailoring was the only place Alfie ever visited for the many, many pieces of clothing that being a lord required; each designed for a different set of social circumstances, activities, or time of day. It was exhausting. Frankly, he didn’t see how the more outgoing of his set found the time to be social in between all the wardrobe changes.

  What made Alfie so fond of Bonheur was not just the excellent craftsmanship and privacy, but also that while the address was in one of the finest areas in town, it had not yet been discovered by the beau monde. As a result, the garments created were actually wearable, unlike most of the latest frippery that would be fashionable one week and laughable the next.

  He was admiring bolts of brightly coloured velvet leaning against the nearest wall when a commotion broke out behind the curtain.

  “Oy! Watch where you’re putting those!” came Dominick's unmistakable shout. Mr. Bonheur darted out from behind the curtain looking uncharacteristically flustered.

  “Is something the matter?” Alfie asked.

  “Ah, I’m afraid my lord, that there was a bit of trouble taking your friend’s measurements. My apologies, all my fault entirely.” He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper, despite Alfie and Dominick being the only patrons at this unfashionably early hour. “I assumed your friend, Mister…?”

  “Mr. Tr-Trent. Mr. Trent.” Alfie caught himself.

  “Mr. Trent,” continued Mr. Bonheur, wringing his hands. “I assumed that he had come dressed in the appropriate undergarments for a fitting. I know the continental style has become modish, but most of my clientele is of a more traditional nature. A gross overstep on my part not to inquire directly however. My apologies again.”

  Alfie was so unsettled by having to make up a nom de guerre for Dominick on the spot that it took him a moment to parse the man’s words.

  “The appropriate? Oh. Oh I see.” Or rather, Alfie tried very hard not to see.

  Dominick wasn’t wearing anything under his trousers. Had he ever? This morning at breakfast, with Dominick sprawled out in his casual way, could Alfie have just gone over, flicked open the buttons of his front fall and been rewarded with Dominick's cock? Or in the carriage earlier, it would have been so easy in the dark confined space to slide a hand in. Had just one worn layer of fabric been all that covered Dominick this entire time?

  Alfie coughed. “I-I believe you have... appropriate garments for sale, do you not? If you could kindly retrieve a pair and add them to the bill. And half a dozen more, to replace the ones he lost.”

  “Yes, my lord. Those items are not on display of course, so allow me just a moment. And my apologies again.”

  As soon as the tailor had scurried off into the back rooms, Dominick's head and bare shoulders popped out from behind the curtain. Alfie bit his lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face. He looked as displeased as a cat who’d missed the fish and fallen in the pond.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  Alfie nodded insincerely.

  “I don’t know who was more startled, me or him.” Dominick opened his eyes and mouth wide in an exaggerated expression of surprise, then flashed his hands either side of his head. The effect was so like Mr. Bonheur’s expression and wild side whiskers, that Alfie burst out in laughter, which set Dominick off as well. Each time one of them started to taper off, they would make eye contact again and start all over.

  Several minutes later, Alfie was hiccupping for breath, and wiping the tears from his eyes with his handkerchief, while Dominick clutched the curtain for modesty and support.

  “Ow, my ribs,” complained Dominick finally. “He’s sure taking an awfully long time back there, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t want to be alone with a pair of madmen and is waiting for us to come to our senses.”

  Alfie folded his handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket. He looked up at Dominick, and the two shared a fond smile. All of a sudden, Alfie felt relaxed, peaceful for the first time in years. Something had shifted between them, and he could tell Dominick felt it too. It was almost like old times again, Nick and Alfie against the world, sharing all their laughter, friendship, and adventures.

  “So, ‘Mr. Trent’?” Dominick finally inquired.

  He shifted behind the curtain, and Alfie fought a blush as he realised that their situation was almost an exact reversal of his fantasy last night. Him fully dressed and at ease while Dominick was completely naked behind the curtain. He felt his cock twitch at the idea, and swiftly crossed his legs.

  Alfie dropped his voice, “I thought it would be easier for us to find my attacker if we were able to travel in the same circles without notice. Hence, the new clothes and the ‘Mr. Trent’. I don’t want any boxing fans to look too closely if they hear your real name and make the connection. Especially as you’re still clearly injured.”

  Dominick nodded. “I don’t know how I feel about wearing macaroni clothes, but I see your point. What about the accent? Can’t put ‘appropriate garments’ on that.”

  “I thought about that,” said Alfie. “If anyone asks we’ll say you’re from Cornwall.”

  Dominick furrowed his brow. “I sound like I’m from Cornwall?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never been.”

  “And if the bloke I’m talking to is from there?”

  “He’d never admit it.”

  Dominick opened his mouth to say something else, but just then Mr. Bonheur returned, red faced but with a folded garment that he handed to Dominick with as much grace as possible before turning his back and giving the man some privacy. This unfortunately, left him facing Alfie. There was a sudden pressing need for the tailor to rearrange some of the display items on the other side of the shop.

  Alfie turned to Dominick, and in a moment of playfulness, made the same surprised face with his open hands either side of his head. Dominick laughed, the sound warming Alfie to his core as Dominick disappeared behind the curtain with a wink.

  ✽✽✽

  The rest of the fitting went well enough, with Mr. Bonheur finally assured there would be no more—Alfie suspected rather large—surprises to be had, and was able to take Dominick's measurements with the practiced efficiency his shop prided itself on. There was some muttering to be had as to how much extra fabric would be required across the shoulders, but remarkably, while new garments would require at least a week, Mr. Bonheur let slip there was a finished suit in the back that would be a near fit that they could take that day.

  Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose as Mr. Bonheur simpered about it being so out of character for him to usurp another customer’s garments in this way, but for a peer of the realm he could be persuaded. Doubtless, the owner of the suit had ordered it and failed to pay, but Alfie's stomach was beginning to rumble, and if using his title got them out of there faster, he would do it.

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Bonheur, and I’ll be sure to mention how accommodating and helpful you were today the next time I attend one of Lady Darrish’s salons.” He felt a prick of guilt that he had never actually attended one of the fashion setter’s famed gatherings. But he would make an effort to do so now, to appease his conscience if nothing else.

  That seemed to spur the man into action, returning from the back room with the aforementioned suit in hand, as well as a shirt, and a flash of blue that Alfie suspected was a waistcoat. There was a great deal of amusing grumbling from behind the curtain as Mr. Bonheur assisted Dominick in getting dressed.

  “The highwaymen stole everything,” Alfie called out, feeling mischievous. “So he’ll need stockings, cravats, and anything else you can think of as well.”

&
nbsp; Mr. Bonheur emerged from behind the curtain and scuttled around the shop, acquiring a flurry of items before disappearing again. Finally he re-emerged. Dominick however, did not.

  “How do you look?” Alfie called out.

  There was a long beat of silence.

  “Fine.”

  Mr. Bonheur wrung his hands again. Alfie wondered idly if that was the best habit for a man who made his living from their dexterity.

  “My apologies once more, this will not be my best work. Once I am able to tailor a suit to Mr. Trent's measurements exactly, I’m sure he will be much more pleased with the result.”

  Alfie waved the man’s concerns away. “Come on then,” he said, with impish glee. “You can’t stay in there forever. We have much more to do today.”

  When no answer was forthcoming from behind the curtain, Alfie stood and with silent steps crossed the shop and flung it open.

  “I’m sure you look…” he trailed off mid-sentence. Dominick looked… He looked… Well, he didn’t look like an orphaned boxer from Spitalfields, of that Alfie was certain. He had fantasized about what Dominick might look like in finer clothes the night before, but his imagination was clearly lacking.

  The dark grey coat was perhaps a touch too tight, but the effect only broadened the look of Dominick's shoulders even further. Its high collar hid a great deal of the bruising, leaving only a few dark areas remaining visible around his eyes and on his cheekbone. It gave him less the look of a ruffian that he had worn before, and more that of a corinthian who had been overzealous in a bout at Gentleman Jackson’s, or perhaps some noble hero who had come to fisticuffs over the honor of a lady.

  A snowy white cravat was tied in a crisp knot against his throat, the pure colour setting off the golden tones in his tanned skin. The coat was open, and Alfie numbly congratulated himself on being correct, the blue he’d noticed was indeed a waistcoat, the bright hue muted with pinstripes of either grey or a very pale green. The garment brought out the colour in Dominick's eyes to devastating effect, even more so once Alfie realised those eyes were looking into his own, awaiting his approval. He was helpless to say or do anything, however, save continue his perusal of Dominick in his new wardrobe.