Richard stayed in bed for another twenty minutes or so, for discretion, going over the conversation in his mind. He had made a bad misstep, that much was clear, but he was damned if he could see where.
After a while, he dressed, feeling David’s absence, then stared out of the window instead of hurrying downstairs while David was engaged in domestic chores. It was a sunny spring day, and the rectory garden was bright with blossoms and unfurling life. Richard watched it through the thick, distorting glass.
He didn’t turn when the door opened, not until a female voice said, “Your lordship.” Then he moved quickly. David had straightened the bed; Richard was supposed to be in here; and, of course, she knew. Still, the consciousness of her knowledge was uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Fleming. Good morning.”
“May I speak to you?” David’s mother asked.
“Of course. Should we go downstairs?”
“No,” said Mrs. Fleming. “I don’t want to speak to you in a drawing room, your lordship. Let’s do it in here where you spent the night with my son.”
Richard had met Dominic’s parents often, and that had felt awkward enough with their love affair a secret. This was far, far outside his experience. He kept his breathing even, watching her face and praying David had been right about her support.
Mrs. Fleming folded her arms. Her plentiful hair was neatly braided and coiled. It framed a face as pale as David’s, more freckled, with green eyes to his brown. The resemblance was strongest in the unnerving lack of expression.
“Lord Richard.” She was watching his face. “I don’t suppose my son has told you a great deal about me.”
“Only that you are not well. I am sorry to know it.”
“Ha. Not that.” She pressed her lips together briefly. “I was a governess. My father was a tailor, but I had a good education, and I found a place in a widower’s household. He was a kind man. A charming man. I was eighteen. I suppose I need not go into too much detail.”
“You must speak as you see fit.”
“He promised me marriage, and I believed him. I think he even believed it at the time he promised,” she added. “But when it came down to it, he was my employer. He did not like it when I argued or when I said no. A man must tolerate disagreement in a wife unless he is a domestic tyrant, but he need not in a governess. Not at all.”
“I see.”
“I doubt you do,” Mrs. Fleming said. “I lived like that for months in the hope that we might be happy, hanging on his approval and fearing any word might spell my dismissal. I worked for him, and I loved him, and that made me helpless because, in the end, he did not feel obliged to treat a governess as he would a woman of his station. Now perhaps you begin to see.”
“Yes.”
“David has talked to me. And what I hear makes me relieved that he left your service and quite determined, my lord, that my son will not repeat my mistake.”
David’s mother, Richard reminded himself. She could say anything she liked. “I share your concern, Mrs. Fleming, believe me. I have offered him a better position in the hope—”
She gave a hiss of anger that made Richard jump. “You don’t understand at all, do you? Of course you don’t, and that is why you are going to hurt him, and, your lordship, you may not do that. I know my husband’s living is dependent on your family, but if you cause my son more pain, I will make you pay in skin.”
Richard could not doubt it, looking at her expression. “Wait, madam. Stop. I am not your enemy, and I have no desire to hurt David. I mean him nothing but good, I give you my word.” He held her angry gaze until she gave a brief nod. “Now tell me what I don’t understand. What is it that I have wrong?”
“Your offer, my lord. He told me about it; it is why I came to speak to you.”
“I offered him a post as my secretary—”
“So that he might no longer be your servant.”
“It is a compromise, I know, but he is a very talented man and would fill the position admirably, and it would mean he would not be in the position you describe. I don’t know what more I can do, Mrs. Fleming.” Many rich men set up their mistresses in luxury with fine clothes and servants of their own. Richard could not believe that David wanted that, but he had no idea what else there was to offer.
She was looking at him, a steady gaze. “No, I see you don’t. And I believe that you mean well, but…” She trailed off, teeth catching her lip. “After breakfast, you will please ask David to tell you more of my history, and maybe then you will understand. I hope you do, because my son deserves better. In the meantime, the table is set, if your lordship will join us.”
They ate together. David was silent, rather pale. Mrs. Fleming seemed as calm as if they had never had that extraordinary discussion. Richard was very used to making conversation over unspoken depths. He spoke to Mr. Fleming, assured him he would attend the midday service, and turned to David as the meal ended. “Will you take a walk?”
David nodded. They set off down the same route as before, along the high street and left at the bridge over the Thames, all in silence until Richard began.
“Your mother spoke to me, with a great deal of openness.”
“She…I beg your pardon?”
Richard gave David a brief summary of the conversation, watching the scarlet flare in his cheeks. “She asked me to ask you about her history. I have no idea why and no desire to pry into private matters, but it seemed to me that she would not have said that without reason. I see a great deal of you in your mother.”
“Thank you,” David said. “And yes, she has a reason. My lord, have you ever wondered about my surname?”
“What? No. It is unusual, I suppose.”
“That is putting it generously. You never asked yourself why my name means whore?”
Richard would have said lady of pleasure if he had said anything. “That is hard speaking.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Richard glanced at him. David was walking with his chin up, lips set. “David?”
“My mother’s employment as a governess came to a predictable end. Her employer did not choose to give her a reference; she had no family on whom to rely. You know how this works, my lord. She was in Belle Millay’s service by the age of twenty.”
“Millay’s, as in the assignation house.”
“That did not then exist. This was her first bawdy house, on Seymour Street. All the brats were given surnames that Belle found amusing, hence Cyprian, you see. I grew up in the brothel where my mother wenched. She thinks my father was a soldier of the Black Watch, because of the hair, but who can say?”
“Does—” Richard stopped himself.
“Does Mr. Fleming know? Of course. My mother is not fool enough to hide such a secret, and my stepfather is not the kind of Christian who throws stones at sinners or demands endless penitence. He loves her for who she is.”
“That is very admirable. Ah, her illness…?”
“Poxed, obviously. She had the first stage some years after my birth; the second is long past and no longer a risk. The third stage…may come, may not.”
The disease might come back at any time, might attack Mrs. Fleming’s eyes or mind, leave her drooling and incontinent. Or it might never come. There would be nothing to do but wait in its shadow and wonder if every little clumsiness, every forgetfulness or flash of temper, was a sign. Richard wished he could take David in his arms, offer some sort of comfort, but the odd, set expression David wore was as off-putting as the public place.
“Thank you for telling me that,” he said instead, feeling his way carefully. “For trusting me with it. I must feel appalled at your mother’s situation. I wish that things had been otherwise, for your sake and hers, and I am very glad to know she has found a happy home. But I’m damned if I can see why she wanted me to know this.”
“Because you offered me a gentleman’s position. Because you want a gentleman, and I am not one and never will be. If you want a gentleman in your bed, my lor
d, you will need to look a long way above brothel spawn.”
“Don’t say that!” Richard glared at him. “You are more than that, and it is damned disrespectful to your mother.”
“I know the respect I owe my mother,” David snapped. “She could have discarded me into the gutters; instead she kept me, educated me, didn’t let Belle put me on sale, though it meant she worked there for years more to pay for me. We all owe our mothers our lives, my lord, but I owe mine a great deal more than most. I was born a whore’s bastard, and thanks to her I have risen to become the most sought-after valet in London. I’m proud of that. We both are.”
“I am sure you are.”
“Are you?” David asked. “Are you really? Because it seems to me that you are ashamed of it.”
“What?”
“You think my profession is degrading, my work demeaning. You said so. You asked, how could your lover possibly black your boots? Well, I have blacked your boots for four and a half years. I worked so hard for you, and I was so proud to do it. I gave you everything, served you every way I could, and all the time you despised me for it?”
“David, no. I didn’t mean that—”
“Demeaning,” David said savagely. “That’s what you said, grotesque and demeaning. Tell me, what do you find most contemptible, that I took such care with your linen or that I ensured your boots were the envy of every man in the ton?”
“Stop, please. You are a superb valet—”
“But that is not good enough for you,” David finished. “There is not the slightest real difference between my work and the post you offered me. A confidential secretary is no fitter for his master’s bed than a valet, and we wouldn’t be any the less hanged for it. In fact, it’s far worse for a lover, because your secretary does not spend hours in your bedroom, but you weren’t thinking of how to have time with me, were you? It’s another form of hair powder, a way to make me more acceptable in your eyes. You don’t want to fuck a servant, so I must be changed, and be damned to what I am or what I want.”
“That is not true!” Richard said, appalled. “That is twisting everything I meant. I wanted to offer you something better—”
“For whom? I would work—I would have worked for you and shared your bed and asked nothing more of life. I like my work, damn it. If you had asked me whether I would still be happy to black your boots, I should have told you yes in a heartbeat, but you never asked because you assumed I would find it as degrading as you do. Everything I have ever done for you—” His voice cracked.
“And if I asked you to come back as my valet, if I asked you to black my boots and share my bed, would you accept that with your mother’s example in front of you? Is that not what she was telling me, that your position is vulnerable beyond bearing? Can you not see that I was trying only to strengthen it?”
“I choose my position,” David said through his teeth. “If I let you choose it for me, then I would be weak indeed. And if you fear I would be vulnerable, the answer is not to elevate me to a secretary. It is to respect me as a valet. As a man. My mother’s employer did not have to treat her like dirt because she was a governess; he chose to. Mr. Fleming never asked her to become something else—”
“Then he is a kinder man than most. And this is all very grand until your position becomes a problem, until I see you flinch at a display of temper or mouth meaningless agreement because you fear the consequences—”
“You don’t trust me to stand up for myself,” David said furiously. “You don’t trust me to make my own choice. Well, I will not be given sops and trinkets like a child who needs direction. I am not your responsibility, my lord.”
“Not since you lost your job over this certainly. Have you forgotten that?”
“I’m hardly likely to. It reminded me exactly what I am to you. Servant to the master.”
“That is my point.” Richard clenched his fists in frustration. “That is what I have been trying to say. It is what I wanted to change—”
“I will not be changed!” David shouted, then dropped his voice to a low, vicious hiss. “I am a valet, and a whore’s get, and a redheaded bastard, and if that is not good enough for you, then you may go to the devil, because I will not be reshaped to fit your whim. I’m better than that. I am very well as I am, and if you cannot lower yourself to fuck the man who cleans your boots, you may not have me.”
He turned on his heel and headed back toward the town. Richard wanted to grab his arm, but there were, of course, people all around. “David, for God’s sake. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I never asked you to,” David said over his shoulder, and walked on.
Chapter 10
Richard started back to London that evening. He usually made the journey over a full day, leaving early in the morning to avoid spending a night on the road, but even that seemed a far more attractive prospect now than the empty, echoing rooms of Tarlton March and the ghosts that crowded on him there. He did not want to remember his father’s autocratic pride or his mother’s bitter cold and what her withdrawal had hidden; Philip’s loneliness and his own bewildered boyhood craving for affection. He could not think of those things now.
It was a long, hard journey in a carriage with Tallant, who stared at his hands in silence the whole way, and with the memory of David’s hurt. Richard did not have solitude until he was back at Albemarle Street the next afternoon, where he went straight to the book room, shut the door on the world, and made himself confront what he had done.
David’s expression would not leave him, the white-faced agony of humiliation, shame, and, worst of all, betrayal. If Richard was anything at all, he was loyal. He supported and protected. He was the strong man on whom others leaned. He did not let his friends down.
Except David. Devoted, dedicated David, to whom Richard owed more than to any man alive, and to whom he’d brought nothing but misery.
He’d meant so well; that was the damned stupidity of it. David was capable of far more than his nominal role, and he deserved so much. He deserved ease and luxury and respect, all the things Richard had. He deserved better than a lifetime of blacking boots. How in the name of perdition could Richard have known that he was content to keep doing it?
No, not content—proud. Richard’s boots had been a matter of painful envy to half the men of the ton because of David’s pride. David had tackled everything from polish to perjury with the same passionate intensity for Richard’s sake, and Richard could have understood that if he’d just looked at his own feet. But he hadn’t. He’d thrown it all back in David’s face without even noticing what he was doing, returned contempt for love, and every scrap of the appalling unhappiness David must have felt at that moment was Richard’s own damned selfish thoughtless fault.
He was huddled on the floor by the desk, head in hands, when heavy footsteps came in, a brisk tramp that came to an abrupt stop.
“Your lordship?” Mason asked. “Are you all right?”
Richard didn’t have the strength for this. He shook his head without looking up.
“Are you ill?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get off the floor?”
“Would you please go away?” Richard said into his knees.
Mason exhaled heavily. “I’ll send for Dom, shall I?”
“No.”
“I’ll get a footman. You stay there,” Mason added with a touch of sarcasm. Richard considered getting up and bolting the door behind him as he departed, but couldn’t find the energy. He’d have to tell Dominic he’d broken his word at some point, after all; it might as well be now.
“Right, that’s a message gone to the Board of Taxes, so I dare say he’ll be along,” Mason said, returning. “Good thing too. He can stop thinking up new ways to take the working man’s money for a bit. Now I got work to do, so I’ll get on. Don’t mind me.”
Richard looked up to glare at him, but Mason had already moved to the shelves, the damned insolent democrat.
“You’r
e a radical,” Richard said abruptly. “You don’t believe in the social order. Would you find service…” He didn’t want to say it. “Uncomfortable? Beneath you? Demeaning?”
“Service. Like, for example, valeting?”
Richard set his teeth. “Like that, yes.”
“Aye, I would. Reason being, I don’t see that one man should have fancy clothes while a hundred wear rags, so valeting would be demeaning as all hell for me, because I’d be going against everything I believe. Whereas it’d be demeaning for you because you’re a lordship, and you think you’ve a right to have your boots shined.” Mason propped himself against the shelves, folding his arms. “David, now, he takes pride in his work, so demeaning for him would be valeting for some bugger who didn’t care what he looked like. Which is a long way to say we all got different opinions. I’d feel bloody demeaned if I had to be told how to put my trousers on, and I’ll wager you don’t.”
“That is not what—” Richard began, and stopped himself because he refused to get into such an absurd argument.
Mason tapped a book, considering. “You know how they say you need to put yourself in another man’s shoes?”
“To understand his position. Yes?”
“Aye, but that’s the thing. Put yourself in his shoes, and it’s still yourself. Your feet don’t fit my shoes, never will. You need to see things how the other fellow sees ’em, not put yourself in his place, because you’re not him. Not something I’m much good at,” Mason added. “I’d have been better in my work if I was. Tell you who’s good at other people: David.”
“Of course he is,” Richard said, his voice stifled.
“Saw that the other day when he asked my help with that problem. He sits there thinking: What does the other man know? What does he believe? What does he want? What does he fear? Works his way through what’s in the other fellow’s head and then uses it to get his own way. Or, I should say, your way.”
Richard stared at his hands, the hands David had cared for and kissed. Mason was right, damn him. Richard had considered himself, the marquess’s son, in a valet’s position and not liked it. He had considered everything from the perspective of a lord, thinking of his own duties and responsibilities. After all his regrets and promises to Dominic, he still had not listened.
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