A Matter of Duty by Sandra Heath Read Free Book Online

Brindley’s famous bookshop on the left, one of several such emporiums in this most fashionable and stylish of all London’s shopping streets. It was a thoroughfare created for gentlemen, renowned for its hotels, bachelor apartments, tailors, bootmakers, and other such masculine establishments; after dark, it was also renowned as the haunt of prostitutes and other persons of a lower order. During the journey, he’d thought of little else but the breaking up of his relationship with Thea, but now she was far from his thoughts, for it was Tom Cherington who was his prime concern.
    The friend whose apartment Tom shared resided above the premises of Messrs. Lucas & Mackintosh, tea merchants, on the western side of the street, almost on the crossroad with Bruton Street and Conduit Street. As the chaise halted at the curb outside, Kit prepared to alight. He felt decidedly jaded after traveling for so long, and wished that he’d driven first to his house in Grosvenor Square to change, but seeing Tom must come before anything else. Besides, Tom was hardly likely to be in the mood to notice any lack of sartorial excellence.
    Tapping his top hat on his head, he climbed down from the chaise, paying the postboy and tipping him a little extra to go to Grosvenor Square and leave word that his private carriage was to come to the rooms in New Bond Street an hour before dawn. Pray God it wouldn’t be needed, for by then Tom might have been persuaded to retract. As the chaise rattled away, Kit entered the narrow alley beside the tea merchant’s and went up the wooden steps to the door of the first-floor apartment.
    It was opened by Dudley, valet to Mr John Partridge, whose apartment it was. He was a small, whippetlike man, a former jockey whose career had been ended by a terrible fall from one of the Prince Regent’s horses at Newmarket. His wizened face was anxious as he opened the door, but he smiled with relief as he recognized Kit. ‘You’ve come at last, my lord. Do come inside.’
    Removing his hat, Kit stepped past him into the candlelit rooms. John Partridge was a follower of the fancy, and his taste was immediately evident. There were prints on the walls, a collection of weapons above the mantlepiece, and copies of Bell’s Weekly Messenger and Woodfall’s Daily Advertiser on the table, both of which publications were renowned for their accounts of sporting events, especially pugilistic matches. There was no sign of Tom, or of his friend, and Kit turned inquiringly to the valet. ‘I take it they’re both out?’
    ‘Mr Partridge is away in Scotland, my lord. His father passed away last week. Mr Cherington is at the Prince of Wales Coffee House.’
    Kit sighed, tossing his hat on the table. ‘And how long has he been drowning his sorrows there?’
    ‘Several hours, my lord.’
    Kit glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just gone nine. ‘If he’s not here by half-past, I’ll go and drag him out.’
    ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said the valet gratefully. ‘I didn’t know what to do, for it’s hardly a servant’s place to tell a gentleman to come home.’
    ‘I’m not sure it’s my place either. How is he?’ Kit flung himself onto a shiny brown leather sofa.
    ‘Very low, my lord.’
    ‘What on earth possessed him to face it out with Rowe, of all men?’
    ‘I don’t know, sir. He’s been a little odd these past few weeks, not at all his usual self.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘It’s hard to say. He seems to have something on his mind, but when Mr Partridge asked him what was wrong, all he’d say was that he’d failed in his family duty in the past, and was continuing to fail in it.’
    ‘Continuing? How can that be when his family’s dead?’
    ‘Precisely, my lord. Mr Partridge didn’t know what to make of it; he reckoned Mr Cherington was in drink.’
    ‘And was he?’
    ‘No, sir. Not to my knowledge.’
    Kit leaned his head back thoughtfully.
    ‘Can I offer you some refreshment, sir?’
    ‘Is