Mending Him (11 page)

Robbie smiled and picked at a bit of stuffing peeking through a worn spot in the arm of the chair. “Apparently you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Charles sat back, resting his arms along the back of the couch. “I have. I think about you going off into the world, and I want only the best for you. I want
success
for you. My comments on your appearance don’t reflect at all on how I personally view you. I adore your outdated clothes and your rather ill-cut hair. They are absolutely endearing to me, my Robbit. And, to quote Samuel,
Lord
, that sounded patronizing!”

“A bit.” Yet he didn’t mind. Charles’s affection for him touched him, and he’d come to love that silly nickname. “Anyway, I do see your point. So it will be best foot forward for me at this dance.” He tapped his lame foot. “A chance to practice hobnobbing.”

Dread flickered in him at the thought. He’d become far too accustomed to being around only family members and servants, safe in this little nest called home. Now he must stretch his metaphorical wings and rehearse for the day when he would venture into open skies, leaving family and safety…and Charles Worthington behind.

That last was impossible to imagine doing without. Robbie glanced at the closed door, then leaned forward and rested a hand on Charles’s knee, kneading lightly. Charles’s eyes lit up, and his lips parted.

“We must take another carriage ride,” Robbie whispered.

“Agreed. Why, I do believe we need to go into the village so you may visit the barber. Do something about that shaggy mop, eh?”

“Yes. Why not tomorrow?” Reluctantly Robbie took his hand away from Charles’s warm knee beneath the soft wool. He slapped his palms on his own legs, set his cane and stood. “But now, I must get on with my day. Mr. Todd wants to review some accounts with me.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Charles’s deep, husky voice made the words a promise that sent squirrels running up and down Robbie’s spine. “And later today too, if you want to help me with my leg exercises.”

“That would be my pleasure.”

Robbie walked out of the room, smiling, smiling, smiling and whistling a little as he headed toward Uncle Phillip’s office.

Chapter Twelve

Charles knew that Robbie didn’t often allow his desire to surface and he even more rarely admitted its existence. Robbie actually stated that he wanted to go out in the carriage with Charles—and wasn’t that a delicious idea. Perhaps the conversation about the future had added some boldness to his usual nature.

Or perhaps he was thinking of a time when he would be gone from the hall and unable to touch Charles again.

Charles had managed to neatly avoid those thoughts, and he even managed to avoid all conversations with Phillip. The future, so bright for his Robbie, still loomed gray for himself. But it was a brighter gray, perhaps a rainy morning and not a late-Sunday-in-November shade now that his health improved.

He pushed to make himself better, but he still flagged quickly. Charles felt exhausted from his morning’s exertions, and what had he done? Walked in the garden, sat and supervised Robbie’s fitting, then walked to the parlor and sat some more. Damn, his lack of energy was frustrating. He wanted to be able to jump up and run, simply flat-out run like a horse given its head. But for now, freedom was still not in his grasp. He should be grateful even to be on crutches. It was a huge step forward for him—pun intended.

Charles stretched out on the sofa, not quite full length as it was too short. He rested his head on a lace-and-bead-covered pillow and slung an arm over his eyes. This wasn’t the most comfortable spot for a cat nap, but it would do.

He pulled out his mental list of professions, trying to decide which he could undertake—his usual method to while away time when alone. A small creak brought him from a half doze to full alertness.

He almost called out a warning so whoever entered the room wouldn’t be surprised by his presence, but a quality to the soft footsteps made him curious. Someone was making an effort to sneak, and if he spoke, they’d either flee or stop pretending stealth.

Charles feigned sleep and through nearly closed eyes, watched Samuel walk quietly about the room. He carried a small leather satchel, the type a doctor might employ, folded open. Samuel walked to an occasional table, picked up a silver vase and unceremoniously dumped it into the bag.

God above, the boy was stealing from his own family. Charles wondered if he should speak up. But no. This was none of his affair, after all.

What would Robbie say if Charles employed that argument with him? He’d point out that one of the footmen or the maids would get the blame should the items go missing. That was unacceptable. Anyone in any position of power must do what he could to prevent suffering in the lower classes. Charles stifled a sigh. He was hardly in a position of power, he argued with the imaginary Robbie.

That Robbie spoke with his mild, calm voice.
Noblesse oblige was the proper attitude even for those without a drop of noble blood. You have several drops in your blood, Worthington, and an ocean in your upbringing—that education and rearing you’ve ignored for years.

And you are a nuisance
, he told the pretend version of Robbie.
I shall speak up when the items are discovered gone. Though I don’t know why I would. I tell you, this is none of my business.

But then the shuffling and soft clunks stopped. The infernal Samuel drew near. He stood almost looming over the sofa where Charles lay.

Charles opened his eyes and yawned.

“I didn’t see you there,” Samuel said.

“Obviously.” The word slipped out filled with dry scorn. So much for the pretense that he knew nothing. He looked at the leather satchel and raised his eyebrows. “Allow me to guess. You need money, and your father refuses to advance you any.”

Samuel turned white, then his cheeks flooded with red. “It’s none of your business.”

And what a pity this idiot would echo his inner voice. Really, he should have guessed that Samuel would easily fill the role of his less admirable self.

Meaning the better part of himself was Robbie. He almost smiled at the thought.

“What will you do?” Samuel said in a low throbbing voice.

“I’ll hope you put the things back.”

“You will tell my father.”

“Not at all. I have no interest in dramatics, but my distaste includes the fuss that arises when valuables are stolen.”

Samuel sank into a chair near him. His hands trembled. “I am in such trouble.”

This sounded exactly like that horrible time not so long ago when Charles had finally understood his comfortable existence had ended. He wanted to rant at the young fool that he had no notion what trouble meant. But the sheer misery in Samuel’s eyes was real. And perhaps if Charles had learned economy in his early years, he would have been able to save money enough to last through his illness.

“How did it happen?”

Samuel mumbled, but Charles caught some of the words. “My friends… Card games…”

“Ah, gaming debts. I’ve had some experience with them. I was foolish enough to borrow money when my family fortune began to wane. It’s not easy to be a wastrel. One finds oneself constantly on edge and nervous. An uncomfortable way to live. ”

“Lord, there’s no one here in this godforsaken village that would lend me money.” Samuel leaned back in his chair. He’d quickly regained some of his affected petulance.

“You should be thankful for that. The only rates available to young fools are far too expensive. Better you should go to your father and admit the truth.”

Samuel’s eyes widened. He slumped again and looked as if he was about to be sick. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Never.”

“You might ask your cousin, then. Robbie might know how to help.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. “Lord, that stick in the mud would have no notion of what to do. You’d advise me to ask Gemma next.”

He got up and began to pace the room. He left the bag sitting on the floor near Charles’s sofa. Charles sat up and drew the bag to him. The youth had snatched several pieces of delicate brass sculpture, several ivory pieces, a Staffordshire shepherdess, two silver vinaigrettes and an antique Chinese fan in a box. He’d been through other rooms of the house already and had a strange mix of expensive and nearly worthless items. The gilt-and-glass paperweights he’d grabbed were hardly worth more than a few bob.

“What shall I do?” Samuel moaned.

Charles looked up from his inventory of the satchel. “Don’t you have a pair of horses?”

“Jupiter and Apollo, yes.” Samuel stopped and put his hands on his hips.

“You can’t sell items that don’t belong to you. Those geldings are yours. Sell them.”

“I can’t! They were a gift from my father.”

“Then explain to him why you need to sell them. Get an advance on your allowance or your inheritance if that’s not enough. My advice to you is to come clean. Tell Phillip or tell Robbie. They’ll find a good solution.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. “You can’t help, I suppose.”

“Samuel, I barely own the clothes on my body. What’s more, I am the worst sort of poor relation. I was once like you, a spendthrift and gambler. I’m not like the dear old auntie who knows how to make do with a crust of bread and a smear of jam for months at a time. You should take lessons from that sort of auntie before you turn into me.” He stopped to consider. “Perhaps that is how I could make my way in the world. Hire myself out as an object lesson for any young fool.”

Samuel gave an inarticulate snarl of frustration. “I don’t know how you can be so frivolous when my life is falling apart.”

Sudden fury rippled through Charles, and he couldn’t hold back. “Your life, you overdramatic lump of excrescence, is hardly falling apart. You have a family who loves you, a roof over your head and your good health. You will solve none of your problems if you indulge in self-pity. It is time to come to terms with your debt. The solutions will be difficult, but they hardly mean your life is over. And even better, once you do face up to the responsibility and pay off your debt, you will be free to start again with no real lost opportunities. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and stop stealing from other people to solve problems you created. And while you’re at it, stop treating your cousin so badly. He’s worth a few dozen of you, you insolent, insufferable whelp, and you should treat him with respect.”

“Charles? Is something wrong?”

Oh Christ. The voice coming from the hall was Robbie.

Samuel glared at Charles. “Don’t you dare say a word to the saintly Robert,” he hissed at Charles.

“No, of course not.”

Samuel grabbed the satchel from Charles’s lap and backed away, feverishly buckling it shut.

Robbie opened the door.

“Nothing is wrong,” Charles said. He smiled. “Your cousin and I are having a disagreement. That’s all.”

Samuel looked at Robbie and then at Charles, who should never have smiled so fondly nor spoken of Robbie with such passion. What had Samuel witnessed in that moment?

Too much, apparently. “Oh my God. It is just as I thought. You two!” He shook his head. “I saw that sketch of him you did, Robbie. Shouldn’t leave your notebook where people can glance through it.”

Charles wondered if Samuel had snooped amongst Robbie’s things as well, looking for something to sell or use for money. “It’s no crime for an artist to draw his friend,” he said.

Samuel glared at him. “I know that. There was a picture of Gemma and her pup in there too, so I convinced myself Robbie was using whatever models were at hand. Still, there was something… I could sense it, and now I see the way you
look
at each other.”

“What are you talking about?” Robbie said. His voice wavered, which made him sound unconvincing.

“I have no proof. But, by God, if I did, I’d make sure Father knew exactly what you both are. I’ve met men and boys like you at university. But I can’t believe in my own family!” Samuel continued, “Saint Robbie has feet of clay. Lord, I’m sick just thinking of—”

“If you do anything to hurt your cousin, I will destroy you,” Charles said in a low voice. “Do you understand, Samuel? I may have no money and my influence in London isn’t what it once was, but I have enough. I will destroy you utterly and forever.”

“An abominable creature shouldn’t be tossing around threats.”

“A creature like me has nothing left to lose, you idiot.”

Robbie still stood frozen on the threshold. “What are you talking about?”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, you sodomite.” Samuel clasped the bag of family treasures in his arms as if he was holding tight to a baby.

Robbie resembled his cousin now, his skin going white and then red splotches forming in his cheeks. But his silence damned him and damned Charles. But really, what could he do? Charles wondered glumly. Shout out a denial? Robbie wouldn’t lie.

Samuel started for the door. Robbie held up a hand, palm out, to stop him. “I know you and I are not the friends we were as boys. But I hadn’t thought you’d want to…to destroy me.”

“As your very good friend Charles would point out, it is your own actions that would destroy you.”

Bad time for the young louse to develop intelligence and articulation, Charles reflected.

“I’ve hurt no one,” Robbie said. He lowered his hand and stepped aside.

Samuel shifted back on his heels. He again looked from Charles to Robbie. Back and forth as if trying to measure their combined threat just as he’d correctly measured their shared affection.

“If you keep your mouth shut” —Samuel spoke only to Charles— “then I’ll do the same.”

Charles studied Samuel. He’d never looked more like Robbie, pale, with strong emotion shining in those eyes, his mouth clamped tight with banked passion.

“What happens when someone notices?” Charles hoped Samuel understood his meaning.
When someone sees the items have been removed.

Samuel’s next words showed he understood. “Well. You want to be Cousin Robbie’s knight, don’t you? You might take the responsibility, then.”

Take the blame and avoid Samuel’s carrying tales. Blackmail, but a nice bit of mutual blackmail. So many considerations crowded Charles’s mind at once. Did he want to help this fool steal from his own father? A far more important consideration was the mayhem Samuel might cause with his tales. Being accused as a thief wouldn’t destroy Charles the way it would Robbie, who valued his uncle’s good opinion.

If Charles took the responsibility for Samuel’s thievery, would Phillip have him sent to prison? He doubted it. But what would he do if—when—Phillip tossed him out? His health had improved a great deal. Perhaps he could even return to London, look up some of those friends who’d avoided him during the worst of his illness.

They might feel guilty enough to offer him employment as…as…and then the picture went blank. They might offer him work as a secretary. Yes, he could manage that. He might even make a fine porter, standing in a heavy overcoat by the entrance to some building, anonymous—

“What are you talking about?” Robbie interrupted his spinning thoughts. “Responsibility for what? Samuel, you should know that Charles is not to be blamed for anyth—”

He must shut up Robbie before he confessed any sort of sins. Charles blurted, “Yes. All right, Samuel. We have a deal. My silence for yours. And I will shoulder whatever comes from… Well. I think we should discuss details later.”

The punishment he’d face would be bearable. After all, he wasn’t an innocent man.
If I’m not guilty of that crime,
he thought as he watched Samuel march away without a backward glance,
I’m sure I’m guilty of something.
Too bad it wasn’t more sodomy with Robbie.

Robbie came to the sofa, but not so close that they might touch. “Why are you smiling? This is awful,” he said.

“Your cousin is a tick,” Charles remarked.

“What has he done? What sort of bargain has he forced you into?” Robbie demanded. He might have been damped down with a horrified shame when he’d first entered the room, but now he’d regained his spirit. That was good.

“Do you know those young buck friends of his? One has been sent down from the university, and the others trailed along after him.”

Robbie nodded. “I’m surprised they’re still in the neighborhood. I suppose they’re holding out for the ball.”