A Gentleman's Position (Society of Gentlemen) (8 page)

Richard had been ranging around the room. He dropped into his great armchair now, suddenly weary. “If he won’t tell me where Cyprian is, what can I do?”

“Hire a new valet,” Dominic said. “We will need to let the others know about this. Someone will have to speak to Quex’s and Millay’s, since we have no Cyprian to act as our flashman.”

“I wish you would not use that language.”

“I wish you would start. Could you not just have fucked the fellow, Rich? Would it have been so impossible to put aside pride of place and demands of rank in the bedroom if you were so very fond of him? Why must you live on that damned superior pedestal?”

Richard gritted his teeth. “Perhaps because I cared for him enough not to force anything on him.”

“Except his dismissal from your service after years of such single-minded devotion that I am now astonished I did not see this coming.”

“Christ,” Richard said, his voice strangled. “Must you say these things?”

“Yes, I think I should. Hire a new valet, and keep your hands off this one.”

“I don’t want a new valet,” Richard growled.

“Then tend to your own clothes, because I very much doubt Cyprian is returning. That is all. We can discuss this further when, or if, you find yourself with something more sensible to say.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m sure you’ll puzzle it out,” Dominic said, and went out of the room, shutting the door with rather more force than necessary.

Richard gathered everyone he could at Quex’s that evening, since there was no point putting it off. Sir Absalom Lockwood and Peter Arlett scowled on either side of the fireplace like portly bookends. Julius Norreys had Harry sitting somewhere between the arm of his chair and his lap; Dominic, arms folded, leaned against the wall. Francis Webster had claimed the other armchair, where he sat with an expression that might have served as model for a male Medusa, and Lord Gabriel Ashleigh hovered behind him, chewing his lip.

“I can only give you all my apologies,” Richard told them. “We have relied on Cyprian for a long time, and it is unnerving to be without him.”

“That is not the word,” Absalom said. “If he bears a grudge, if he chooses to lay information—”

“Then we must deal with him,” Peter concluded.

“May I ask how?” Julius’s voice was clipped. “Because, as I am sure you have all noticed, we have come to depend on Cyprian for more or less everything that cannot be shouted in the street. He saved Harry’s life.”

“And Silas’s neck,” Harry said.

“And my reputation,” Dominic added.

“And I cannot imagine what you thought you were doing falling out with the man in such spectacular wise, Richard,” Julius concluded. “If you wanted to be rid of him, I should have taken him on like a shot.”

Richard had admitted only to a disagreement. He had no intention of revealing more. “I did not plan to argue with him.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” Ash sounded rather tense. “I had hoped to borrow him.”

“Can you make amends?” Julius asked.

“Good God, you ask Richard to grovel to his valet?” Peter said with incredulity.

“Oh, well, as long as he maintains his proper dignity,” Julius snapped. “It is a damned waste. That is a good man, Richard, and you are a fool.”

“Julius,” Harry said urgently. “I’m sure Richard didn’t dismiss him without reason.”

“He saved your life. I think a little more flexibility might have been in order.”

“Recriminations aside, we have a practical issue,” Absalom said. “Here, and at Millay’s, we have had Cyprian as, uh, facilitator. Somebody else will need to do that.”

“What did it entail?” Julius asked. “Because I will freely admit, he seemed to me to operate by sorcery.”

“I could not say, but I am happy to discuss it with the proprietors and find out,” Dominic offered. “Leave that in my hands.”

Richard thanked God for Dominic, always there, no matter how angry he might be.
He gave him a tentative smile and received a rueful shrug in return.

“The other thing—” Ash began.

“Can wait,” Francis told him. “I should rather first be assured that Cyprian is not laying information, or proposing to blackmail any of us, or any of the other obvious courses of action open to him.”

“I don’t believe he is,” Richard said.

“With respect, Richard,” Francis said with a bite in his voice, “you believed that he would prove loyal in a way he simply has not. Did you pay him off? A generous severance?”

“No.”

“No. So he has moved from a lavish salary to nothing. That bodes ill.”

“You well know he will not struggle to find another post,” Julius said.

“With whom?” Francis asked. “Yes, Richard? What thought crossed your mind just then?”

Richard braced himself. “Merely that Maltravers made an approach to him.”

Every man in the room let out an oath at once. Ash put his face in his hands. Richard gestured for silence. “I am quite sure he will not take that post—”

“For God’s sake.” Francis stood, his lanky frame stiff with anger. “I am aware we have all depended on you these many years; I am aware we are all to blame for our willingness to leave our safety in your hands. But this is a catastrophe.”

“It is a
potential
catastrophe,” Dominic said. “Which is not the same thing. Let us not panic.”

Francis scowled. “
You
may enjoy the prospect of being abused in the pillory. I do not.”

Dominic shoved himself upright, face darkening. Richard interposed himself. “Enough. Stop it. We need not quarrel amongst ourselves, and any quarrel should be with me. This is my responsibility.” He was not enjoying this experience, seeing the friends who relied on him irritated, frustrated, and afraid, and knowing it was his fault.

“As Francis observes, if we had not left it as your responsibility, we should not be in this fix,” Peter pointed out.

“It is not fair to blame Richard,” Harry said. “Julius trusts Cyprian, and so does Silas, and that’s good enough for me.”

It was not good enough for several of the others. A lengthy and futile argument ensued, leaving them all out of charity with one another, Ash in particular looking utterly miserable, and Richard as ill-tempered as he had ever felt.

It did not help that, on the way home, he found himself looking forward to talking over the problem with Cyprian.

Richard refused to regret the trust he had placed in his valet, no matter what the others said. They did not know. They did not understand. They thought of Cyprian as a servant when he had been so much more.

He retreated to the book room when he got in, because he was unreasonably irritated by the thought of going upstairs to find Tallant in his bedroom. Or, worse,
not
there, because he was well aware he could not expect another valet to anticipate his wishes in the way Cyprian had.

Single-minded devotion,
Dominic had called it.
You should have looked for a way to proceed that would
not
be a gross abuse.

What the devil did Dominic know? He was not of the nobility. He did not have Richard’s position. He accepted the mockery and contempt of his equals as the price of pursuing an
affaire
that none of them cared to understand or acknowledge because…

Because when Dominic had found the right answer in the wrong man, he had chosen to take the consequences. Just as Mason had, the insolent radical, enduring his unwanted employment in Richard’s household with gritted teeth.

Just as Cyprian would have, if Richard had let him.

It would not have been fair,
Richard told himself. The thought rang more hollow every time.
It would have been an abuse. It would have been wrong.

Whereas as it is, matters have gone quite tremendously for us both,
he added mentally, and reached for the decanter.

He woke up the next morning to an alien presence in his bedroom, a cup of tea that was made exactly to his specifications yet tasted flat and unsatisfactory. Tallant moved in an unfamiliar way, looking for things, making noise; he did not know how Richard preferred to dress; he was
not Cyprian.
Richard thanked him for his efforts in a difficult situation, did not throw the cup at the wall, and spent the day at Jackson’s Saloon hitting things.

On the third morning, Richard refused both tea and breakfast and strode off to Mount Street as soon as he had dressed.

It was still early on Saturday morning, the spring sunshine making Berkeley Square beautiful, songbirds audible in the trees. Richard did not care. He could understand the impulse that had led his father to sequester himself at Tarlton March for so many years. He was tired of London, of people, of everything.

He ran up the steps to Dominic’s rooms and knocked. Then knocked again, because there seemed to be nobody in, which was to be expected since every damned thing was set against him. A third time, and Dominic opened the door.

He was clutching a dressing gown around himself, black hair tousled, and there were red marks around his wrists that Richard did not choose to examine.

“I suppose Mason’s here,” he said, stalking in.

“You may suppose anything you wish. I do as I choose in my rooms.” Dominic ushered him into the study. “You look in a damned bad mood.”

“I am. What did you mean about saying something more sensible?”

“Are you going to?”

Richard took a chair. “Perhaps. How the devil do I find Cyprian, what do I say when I find him, and how can I persuade him to come back?”

“As what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, well, you should probably think about that first.” Dominic pulled over a chair of his own. “And having thought, you should probably ask what he thinks.”

“To do anything at all I must find him, and I have no idea how, because before this I should have asked Cyprian to do it, and now I find myself in the state of a man who has lost his right hand and yet is eternally attempting to reach for things!”

“Breathe,” Dominic recommended. “I am well aware you are in an unhappy situation here. But…I must be frank: Silas spoke to Cyprian that night, and he now feels, ah, protective.”

“ ‘Protective.’ That is to imply that Cyprian requires protection from
me
?”

“I have this at third hand, Rich. I simply repeat what was said.”

“You know I would not hurt—” Richard began, and stopped.

“Quite. You would hurt a man you cared for, you
did,
and it sounds very much as though you have again. I love you dearly, my friend, but if you will not learn, then perhaps your monastic solitude is for the best.”

Richard swallowed against the constriction of his throat. “Dominic…”

“No, listen to me. I want you to think
before
you speak. I want your word as a Vane and a gentleman that you will step off your damned high pedestal and stop expecting everyone around you to abide by your will.”

“I don’t—”

“You do, whether you know it or not. You are not the arbiter of morals. I have told you that. You do not always know best. You need to
listen.
If you’re going to pursue this business with Cyprian, you will need to listen to him. And if you cannot do that, I want your word that you will not pursue this at all.”

“You are very concerned for Cyprian,” Richard growled.

“I don’t give a curse for your blasted valet. I never liked him anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

Dominic started to answer, stopped, and then said, with a rueful look, “Now I think about it, probably because you did. He was so close to you, so…intimate. And you put such trust in him.”

Richard shut his eyes. He did not know what his face showed, and at this moment, he could not care. He wanted Cyprian so badly that the absence felt like a gouge in his chest.

“I recall I came to see you once, perhaps a year and a half ago,” Dominic said with an odd gentleness. “Francis had lost his senses at the card tables and taken Ash for everything but his coat, and we needed to discuss what on earth we would do if he couldn’t make the young idiot win it back.”

Richard nodded. That had been quite spectacular even for Ash and Francis, although the problem had solved itself by igniting their affair.

“You were still dressing, so I came upstairs. Cyprian was doing something to your boots. You were sitting, and he was kneeling, and I thought…
a knight before his lord.
” Richard opened his eyes at that. Dominic gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “I had been reading the
Morte d’Arthur,
and it came into my head. What I mean to say is that if he were not your valet I suspect this would have been obvious a long time ago. Oh, Richard. Are you in love?”

“Painfully.” Richard’s throat felt tight. “For years. I have told myself again and again that I may not, but…”

“It doesn’t work, does it?” Dominic said, mouth wry. “The heart does as it damned well pleases. I retract my remark, with apologies. If you care for the fellow, you have my full support. I may add that Silas both likes and respects him, and that is not something one can say for many people. What I wanted to say, though, was that I am concerned not for him but for you.”

“You don’t need to be concerned for me.”

“Of course not. You are always the one who gives help, and heaven forfend you should need it yourself. You might not be sufficiently useful then.”

Richard found he had no response to that. Dominic went on without waiting for one. “You told me once that one cannot love across a divide. Well, one can, but it is damned hard work. One can cause a great deal of hurt without intending it. You
have.
”

“Dom—”

“Sssh.” Dominic put a hand to Richard’s arm, a comforting but silencing touch. “I am very fond of you, my friend, but your feet are large, and your tread is heavy. I don’t want to see you make another mistake. You are still paying for the last one.”

Richard breathed deeply. “I should rather not make one. You have my word, Dom, or Mason has it, since you speak as proxy. I will do my best, although what that will be I don’t know.”

“Thank you. He’s gone to his mother’s house.”