Titus was deeply worried about what Henry might do, in a way he was trying hard not to think about. He would be an entire fool to start mooning after another man now.
He and the Comte were walking silently eastwards to Carey Street. For a man who was so ready with words, the Comte was remarkably capable of silence. It was a gift Titus wished a lot more people had, and yet another irresistible characteristic in a man he very much needed to resist.
He wasn’t even sure why the Comte was coming with him, given he’d expected such a fashionable man to live in a more westerly area. In fact, he had no idea of the Comte’s direction, he realised, or of his other connections, or of much else beyond his parentage. Titus hadn’t enquired, since he wasn’t in the habit of asking personal questions. He had been taught it was rude to be curious, and he preferred not to be asked questions himself. It always seemed so intrusive.
The Comte asked questions all the time, those dark-bright eyes gleaming interest, and somehow Titus didn’t mind that at all.
He glanced round at his companion, and saw his well-shaped brows were furrowed into a frown. “Comte?”
The Comte gave a little head-shake as he pulled out of his brown study. “Mon ami?”
“I thought you looked worried.”
“Ah, no, it is nothing. A reverie only, lost in thought. I was wondering, have you considered a valet?”
“A valet?”
“You will need one. Fine clothes require fine treatment, as do fine gentlemen.”
Titus should have thought of that himself. “Ah. Yes. I shall ask Mr. Thorpe. I daresay he’ll know what to do.”
“Certes he will. Although, if I may suggest…?”
“Yes, of course.”
“It is merely that I am obliged to turn off my own valet. Not for any fault of his, none in the least! He is an excellent servant, painstaking and very competent. More, he is entirely trustworthy, of discretion the most absolute. If you are looking for a man, I would give him the most excellent of references. But naturally you may prefer to select your own.”
“A recommendation is very welcome,” Titus said.“But—forgive me asking—if this man is such a paragon, why are you turning him off?”
“Nothing to forgive, mon ami; of course you should ask. It is—ugh.” The Comte made a face. “The truth is that I find myself financially embarrassed, and I do not care to have Perreau suffer on my account. He is a good and loyal man, and I should be happy to know he had a more secure place than I can now offer.”
Financially embarrassed. That was doubtless the beginning of the request for money that both Thorpe and Carnaby had warned Titus to expect, and he tried not to let the realisation hurt. The Comte had earned it, as long as the sum was reasonable. He hoped it would be reasonable, that the Comte didn’t see him as a mere gull. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Ah, it is my foolishness. I was a little careless in my spending. And now I learn that my landlord takes a different view of a Frenchman with a rich marriage in the offing to a Frenchman with no such privilege. Alors, I must find a new place to live and reduce my expenses, lest I outrun the constable, as you say.”
“Your English is quite wonderful,” Titus said. “You know all the phrases. Comte, I do feel rather responsible for your predicament—with my marriage, you know. Perhaps I could help?” There, that was tactfully put, and made it Titus’s offer, not the Comte’s demand. He found he preferred that.
“That is kindly offered,” the Comte said. “Thank you, but I do not care to be a hanger-on, or to break the shins of my friends.”
“Really, I should be pleased—”
“Mon ami, no.” He spoke with startling finality. “I appreciate the offer, but I will not take your money, as loan or gift. I am not without resources: merely, it will take me a little time toturn those resources into funds, and meanwhile I must learn to do without Perreau. That is all.”
“But,” Titus said blankly. He had been so certain. “Are you sure?”
“Absolument. I am grateful for the offer, but let us leave the subject, hmm?”
Titus had a sudden fear he might have made a terrible faux pas. The last thing he wanted to do was offer insult. “Of course, I do beg your pardon. And I shall interview your man. That seems an excellent idea. But—” The words somehow came out of his mouth without intervention from his brain. “If your landlord is turning you out, would it help you to stay with me a while?”
The Comte’s mouth dropped open. It was startling: he was normally so poised. “To—”
“Well, I have a great deal of room. Far more than I need, and far more staff than I really require. It feels quite wrong to have a house all to myself while everyone else struggles to find space. And I do know how it is with landlords. The truth is, I married Miss Whitecross because my landlord had raised my rent unaffordably, and I was afraid I’d lose my shop.”
“There is a reason the landlord class was sent to Madame la Guillotine,” the Comte remarked sourly.
“Isn’t there just? Although that was very wrong, of course,” Titus added, more by rote than conviction. “So if you would care to be my guest until your funds come through, you are most welcome.”
The Comte hesitated. “It is an offer of the greatest generosity, but I should not wish to be a burden on you.”