“Mr. Frey’s. Go on, get on. It’s too cold for chat.”
Disbelieving, sure this was wrong, but unwilling to draw attention, Silas went through the indicated door and up the stairs. He knocked.
A housemaid answered. “Delivery? Oh, no, you’re the book man.” She looked him up and down, gave a little sniff. “Well, in you come.” She ushered him into a book-lined study, curtains drawn and fire blazing, warmly decorated in shades of red that made him think of the wines they had drunk. “I’ll let the master know you’re here.”
And then, a few long moments later, Dominic. He walked in with a word of courteous greeting, shut the door, and took Silas, astonished and unresisting, in his arms.
Silas allowed himself one long, greedy kiss, because he couldn’t not, then wrenched away. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Possibly.” Dom’s eyes were sparkling darkness. “Probably. On the other hand, I do have some small powers of planning. You are chilled to the bone.”
“It’s damned cold out.”
“Bath,” Dominic said. “I had one drawn. No, I am quite serious.”
“You can’t just put a passing bookseller into a bath,” Silas growled. “You don’t think the servants will notice?”
“The servants have all gone home but one, and she is leaving now,” Dominic said, rather smugly. “I gave them the evening off. You and I, my friend, have the place to ourselves. And I don’t think we will be able to repeat this, so shall we not waste our time in argument?”
Silas blinked at him. “Right. Bath, you say?”
He’d never had a bath, not in a private way. He washed, like everyone else, under the pump or with a pitcher and a bowl, went to the bathhouse as a luxury. Dom had had people boiling water for this, lugging great pitchers of the stuff up the stairs, and Silas didn’t believe for a second that it was leftover bathwater either. This was for him.
The bath stood in a bedroom, in front of another fire. Coals that could keep half the street warm in a set of rooms for one man that had enough space for twenty. The water was deep enough to soak in up to his neck and so hot that it seared his chilled toes before warming them. He shut his eyes, feeling the soothing heat, and heard a soft tread on the floor.
“How’s that?” Dominic asked.
“Very nice. Thought I needed cleaning up, did you?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
Fair enough. He was dirty, and knew it. It wasn’t possible to be otherwise. His cropped hair kept him free of lice, and he sluiced himself down whatever the weather because he’d read a lot on hygienic living, but there wasn’t much more a working man could do.
Except take a wealthy man as lover, of course.
He harrumphed in response and reached for the washcloth Dominic held out. It was a rare pleasure, scrubbing at himself, sluicing water through his hair, with the frothiest, sweetest soap he’d ever touched. It was Dom’s soap, the stuff Silas had smelled on his skin. He’d smell of it for a little while, carrying the Tory around with him in a cloud, before it wore off with time and grime, and the thought was a painful joy.
The bathwater, when he opened his eyes to look at it, was murky.
“God’s tits,” he muttered. Honest dirt shouldn’t be an embarrassment, of course. Bathing was another luxury the rich kept to themselves, that was all. But in this clean, airy room, the dirt made him feel his place.
Was this Dominic’s bedroom? It had a large bed, with an iron frame that brought ideas to mind and a mirror opposite that added to them. No pictures on the wall, no china or trinkets or silver knickknacks or whatever gentlemen usually had, no anything that spoke of his personality. Just a bed, a chest, and a lot of shelves with a lot of books.
Books and a bed. If the floor had been bare, rather than covered in rugs, and the bed had been smaller and harder, the blankets coarse instead of fine, and the walls dirty, it could have been Silas’s own room.
Dominic had gone out while he washed. Silas could have sworn he heard voices, low, somewhere outside. He didn’t let it worry him. It might be people in the hallway of the building; if it was an unexpectedly returned servant, well, Dom was no fool.
The man in his thoughts came back in a moment later. “Done? Good heavens.”
“Aye, well.” Silas gave his short hair a last scrub and a doglike shake and hauled himself out of the tub. Dominic stood with a towel, a great clean sheet. “Reckon I might get that dirty.”
“It doesn’t matter if you do.” Dominic enfolded him in the towel, warm and dry and the softest thing he’d ever felt against his skin, rubbing it gently over him. “That looks like it feels better.”
“Not so bad. Comfortable things, your luxuries.”
“That’s what they’re for,” Dominic agreed. “Silas, I hope you know—I know you know that I have no desire to change you. Or, at least, that I am not fool enough to embark on any such fruitless quest. You do me very well as you are. You know that, yes?”
“What are you getting at?”
“This.” Dominic stepped away and indicated a neat pile of clothes on the bed.
“What’s that?”
“Christmas. I wanted you here, and I wanted you to be comfortable here, so, uh, I hope they fit.”
Silas picked up the garments with exaggerated disbelief. They were…
They were, in fact, perfect.
Not shining new. Not obtrusive. Not smart. The decent garb of a decent man. Precisely the sort of thing that a prosperous bookseller of the middle sort might wear: a good linen shirt, a decent brown waistcoat and darker coat. A pair of breeches.
“You bought me clothes,” Silas said.
“I have so much.” Dominic sounded a little stifled. “Please, let me give you something of use. I promise, I did consider— Look, could you just try to take this in the spirit in which it’s meant?”
“And what spirit’s that?”
“A radical one, of course. Sharing my wealth. We both know this isn’t going to happen twice, Silas. I hoped to make it good.”
Silas forced out his instinctive reluctance on a breath. “Ah, you bugger. All right. But you’re a prick.”
“You’re welcome.”
The clothes did fit, very well. Dominic knew his body, of course, none better, but it was still a little odd. Odder for Silas to look in the mirror and see himself appear respectable. A white shirt, a neat neckcloth, a coat that wasn’t torn or dusty. Himself pink with scrubbing, and his brindled hair looking rather more flecked with white than usual.
Dominic came behind him, looking into the mirror, slipping hands around his waist. “Most suitable.”
“Aye, well.” He did look…not a match for his Welsh lovely, fine as ever in a smart blue coat, but the contrast was less aggressive than usual. Fine clothes make the man, people said with a sneer. “Here’s a question, Tory. Why have we got me dressed instead of getting you undressed?”
Dominic didn’t quite meet his eye. “Later. Come through to the study.”
“Why?”
“Come on.” Dom headed off. Baffled, Silas followed, back into the warm book-lined room.
There was a man there. A handsome young gentleman standing by the fire, and Silas had time for one shocked inhalation before he saw who it was.
“Harry?”
“Oh God, Silas.” Harry was in his arms, hugging him ferociously. “Oh God, I am so glad to see you!”
“Harry.” Silas hugged him back, squeezing his eyes shut. “What are you doing here?”
“Dominic asked me what you wanted for Christmas,” Harry said with a choke of a laugh, “and I said you’d want to see me, which I dare say was terribly arrogant, but if he gave you anything else, you’d just sell whatever it was and hand the proceeds over to the first half-starved beggar you saw, and oh, Silas, I have missed you so much. God, it’s good to see you.” He pulled away a little so they could look at one another. “Oh, yes, they fit. You look so respectable I wouldn’t have known you.”
“I don’t kno
w you. Is that an earring? You prancing fop.”
Harry flushed, grinning. “I had it done last week. Julius says we should set a new fashion.”
Behind them, Dominic made a despairing sort of noise. Dominic, who had given him Harry for Christmas. Silas looked around and saw him, standing there, watching.
“Ah, Tory,” he said roughly. “I…” He couldn’t find words somehow. Anger, scathing denunciation or accusation, came to his pen without trouble. This rendered him speechless.
Dominic smiled, with something almost painful in his expression. “The plan is to dine here, as best we can, so you—we—have the whole evening. I’ll let you two reacquaint yourselves. Excuse me.”
Silas reached out, grabbing Dominic’s hand before he could leave the room. “Dom.” He wanted to say, Nobody has ever, in my life, done anything like this for me. He gripped the hand he held harder, looking into Dom’s dark eyes, and saw the smile there.
“I know,” Dominic said softly. “My pleasure.”
Silas let him go and turned back to Harry, who was watching him with a somewhat slack-jawed expression.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You know perfectly well what. Good God, Silas. You, uh, you do know he’s a Tory?” Silas glowered. Harry spread his hands. “Well, for heaven’s sake, you must see it’s a little…unexpected.”
“I’ve not changed my views.” It was important Harry should know that. “Fine clothes be damned. I’m not changing, nor giving up the fight either.”
“Well, I know that, you fool. So what are you doing?”
Silas snorted. “Wish I knew. Look, you tell me how you are, all right?”
“My grandfather tried to murder me and now I’m rich. Are you in love?”
“Your grandfather did what?”
“I’ll tell you later. If you answer the question.”
God, he’d have liked to. Harry was the only one he could talk to about this, the only one who knew Dominic’s world as well as Silas’s own and wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at any bedroom doings, randy little sod that he was. “Don’t be stupid. Look at me. Look at him, damn it. Someone like that, what would I be doing—”
“In his home, with him spending all last week planning this for you?” Harry supplied helpfully. “Seeing him at the risk of both your necks, with the Home Office at your heels?”
“Shut your mouth, Harry. Or, no, if you’re going to babble, tell me this. That big cousin of yours.” He wasn’t sure what to ask. Does he still want Dominic? Does Dominic still want him?
“Richard?” Harry pulled a face. “He’s not happy. They’re not speaking, you know, he and Dominic, because of—well, you. Julius says it’s good for both of them,” he added hastily. “Julius says it’s about time they stopped being in one another’s way.”
“Julius is very welcome to attend to his own affairs,” Dominic said from the doorway. He had a bottle in one hand, three glasses—perfect, clean, long-stemmed crystal—in the other. “Champagne?”
They talked and drank. It was dreamlike. A warm room, unimaginable comfort that the other two took for granted, and Harry, so simply happy, chattering on about his new life, his plans for the future, his unexpected windfall courtesy of the woman he hadn’t married. The phrase “Julius says” recurred about every three sentences. After a while Silas caught Dominic’s eye when Harry said it and was hard put not to laugh.
They talked about the six bills too, Harry darting glances between Silas and Dominic as if unable to believe they wouldn’t go for each other’s throats. He was a little respectful of Dominic, a little cautious. He saw the formidable Tory, Silas supposed, the face Dominic presented to the world. He didn’t know the truth. That was for Silas.
And Dom had been right about the clothes on some odd level. Silas’s respectable appearance was part of this dream where he sat in a warm room talking radical politics to gentlemen who listened and answered and cared what he thought. Where he was with Dom and Harry too, and it was no more than natural to be so.
They ate cold chicken, some sort of fish in some sort of jelly, whatever else was on the table. In other times the food might have been a rare treat, but it was nothing compared to the company. Dominic had opened a bottle of Hermitage, the vintage they’d had before, which Harry tossed back without noticing and Silas sipped slowly because he never wanted to forget the taste of this night.
They were drinking port in the study when the knock came to the door. Silas and Harry both twitched.
“Who the devil— I’ll attend to it.” Dominic got up. “Stay here.”
Silas glanced at Harry, who returned a questioning, tense look. Surely he hadn’t been followed here. He’d been bloody careful.
“What in the name of perdition do you want?” Dominic demanded from the hallway.
“You so often tell me to be more interested in my fellow man, dear Dominic. Regard me interested.” That in an ironic, well-spoken voice, and Silas needed no more than the sudden light in Harry’s eyes to tell him who the visitor was. Dominic clearly didn’t feel the same enthusiasm, launching into a low-voiced argument rather than bringing him in.
“Silas?” Harry asked. “Will you—would you meet Julius? Only if you’d like to, but, well, I’d like you to.”
The whole evening was madness anyway. “Why not?”
“It’s all right, Dominic,” Harry called, and a moment later Dominic, looking annoyed, entered, followed by the most foppish man Silas had ever seen in his life. He was slim, and pallid as a white rat, all cheekbones and breeding. He had on a waistcoat that looked like it had worn out a seamstress’s fingers for the fancy broidery, a stupidly complicated neckcloth, breeches you’d need to cut off with a razor blade, and like Harry, a jewel twinkling in his earlobe, his a diamond to Harry’s sapphire. In Silas’s estimation, he looked bloody ridiculous. Harry’s smile could have lit the room on its own as he entered.
The dandy glanced at Harry with a little twitch of the lips, then extended his hand to Silas. “Mr. Mason, I deduce. Julius Norreys. I believe we owe you a debt for keeping Harry out of trouble for some years.”
“If only he’d reciprocate,” Dominic put in, while Silas shook the offered hand and grunted some sort of response. “Julius, what are you doing here?”
“Curiosity,” the dandy replied without shame. “Also, reconnaissance, and warning.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The dandy glanced from Dominic to Silas. “Forgive my impertinence, but I understand you gentlemen had a narrow squeak recently.”
Dominic’s face hardened. “And how do you know that? As though I need ask. Curse it, Julius—”
“Don’t blame me, he’s not my valet. A raid on Millay’s, in pursuit of you, I believe, Mr. Mason.” The dandy’s eyes were a very pale frosty blue. “Richard is angry, Dominic. That put others at risk, in a house that he has spent a great deal of money to make as secure as possible for all of us.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Dominic snapped. “I’ve taken steps, and we won’t be returning in any case.”
“But Mr. Mason is here now.” He glanced from Dominic to Silas. “Oh, curse it. You should—both of you—be aware that Richard is considering having Mr. Mason removed from England.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dominic said. “What did you say?”
“Will he fuck as like,” Silas snarled, uncaring if he soiled this fop’s ornamented ears.
“My dear sir, don’t punish the messenger. You must understand, Dominic, this is intended for your own good, since it is apparent you have run mad.”
“I am not the lunatic here,” Dominic said savagely. “Who the devil does he think he is?”
“A Vane, of course,” Harry said. “They’re all like that, my whole family. Why do you think my cousin had to elope? Or my father, come to that?”
“I will have words with Richard. I have tolerated his interference long enough. I will not have this.”
“Don’t let me stand in your way,�
� Norreys said. “In fact, I shall take steps to be as far out of the way as possible. As will you, dear Harry.”
“I think I’d quite like to talk to Richard too, actually,” Harry said. “He got rid of my valet, the one who killed George, you know. He’ll never face trial, because the Vanes didn’t want him telling the world that my grandfather tried to kill me. He’s just been removed.”
Silas shook his head, unbelieving, looked at Dominic. “See? And you say there’s the same law for all?”
“One law for the lion and ox is oppression,” Dominic said.
“Don’t you fucking quote Blake at me!”
“I intend to quote it to Richard. It is, after all, precisely what the Vane family believes.” Dominic’s nostrils were flared, a little betrayal of the anger gripping him. “Have you any intimation that this is in motion, Julius?”
“No. I had the letter this afternoon. It’s possible that he wrote in anger and may reconsider. You do know that Absalom was at Millay’s at the same time as you?”
“The devil.” Dominic looked shocked. “I don’t know anything. We were in the room for hours after.”
“It seems a serving maid appeared at a run and summarily ejected his partner just at the moment of crisis. He felt, naturally, rather hard done by. So he was not arrested, but you will understand Richard’s feelings. He is of the opinion that Mr. Mason’s association with the pair of you could bring every one of us down.”
There was a nasty silence. “That’s not fair,” Harry said at last. “It’s come about because of me.”
“It’s all of us,” Dominic said.
“All three of you?”
“No, all of us. You, Ash, Francis, Absalom, everyone. We’re all breaking the law. If anything, Richard has made us overconfident. Molly houses are raided, Julius, and men like us go to the pillory or to the gallows, and we don’t need the help of radicals for that to happen.”
“Radicals say, change the law,” Silas said. “You don’t want reform; you like things to stay the way they are? Well, this is how they are.”
“It is, and I for one have no desire to face the consequences,” Norreys said. “Be extremely careful, Dominic, please. I shall tell Richard that Harry and I will have no part of any press-ganging. I don’t know what Cyprian may have put in motion now, but that is up to you to deal with. Harry, let us leave this, ah, seditious pair to their evening. Good fortune, Mr. Mason, and a very merry Christmas.”
A Seditious Affair Page 13