The next day was too busy for fretting about his decision, or examining why it had seemed such a good idea to move Nico into the house. Titus had decided to close his shop altogether, at least for now. Finding another location was simply too much effort, and keeping it open would require further dealings with Henry.
He wished he could ask Nico to come with him, in case Henry happened by the shop. Nico would deal with him, he was sure. But Henry could be terrifyingly indiscreet when he was angry, and he would doubtless be very angry by now.
In the event, the shop was blessedly quiet. Titus spent the day emptying it of all his stock with the assistance of a hired carter, taking comfort from the familiar odours of paint and powders and linseed. He knew where he was with pigments, with stained hands and choking smells and the endless use of pestle and mortar. He’dlikedhis quiet life in the shop, making paints.
He was less sure he’d like his new life, where he would wear fine clothes and move in elevated company, and go to parties with people he didn’t know. But it was what he should be doing, and even if the prospect was terrifying, he was determined not to be a coward. The whole world dreamed of joining the rich, glittering few at the pinnacle of Society, andhe, Titus Pilcrow, had been given the chance. It would be absurd not to take it just because he cringed from the thought of rich, well-dressed people laughing at his efforts to become one of them.
Titus wasn’t glittering, and no amount of gold would make him so. But he would surely meet like-minded people, and come to enjoy parties in a quiet manner. He could do it if Nico was there with him, being charming and smooth, knowing what to do, and flickering that confident smile his way.
He was going to try his best. He had been given a miraculous windfall, other people would kill to be in his shoes, and it would be ridiculous to hide away from the opportunities his new life offered. And if at the moment that seemed to hold more threat than promise, well, that was unfamiliarity. He would learn to like it. He had to.
Chapter Nine
Nico moved himself and Eve into Carey Street two days later, to an accompaniment of Eve’s mutters about whether this was a good idea.
It was a brilliant idea. Titus had made a very polite offer of funds, and he was an open-handed and open-hearted man. He might have been good for as much as a hundred quid. But the revised debt to Jacky Gaskin, with late fee and interest, was almost two thousand pounds, a sum so large Nico wanted to be sick when he thought of it. Titus wouldn’t hand over two grand for the asking: nobody would. You could buy an estate in the country for that kind of money.
So he’d refused anything at all, and as a result Titus had offered Eve a generous salary, and was paying for both their bed and board. Virtue was its own reward.
Eve had given him two new targets: collectors of objets d’art with a particular interest in Marie Antoinette. A month in Carey Street without worrying about food, rent, or rats would give Nico all the time he needed to sell the painting toone or the other gull, while Titus’s golden aura cast an illusory lustre on Nico’s cheap tin.
Eve had again suggested selling the painting to Titus, since he and Nico were such good friends now. That would save a lot of trouble, but Nico had turned it off, citing Titus’s entire lack of interest in the French Queen. In fact, he hadn’t even asked.
He would sell it to Titus if he had to, but he didn’t want to. He liked Titus, liked his humour, and how remarkably easy he was to get along with, and the admiration in those big eyes, and his careful courtesy. Nico liked all that very much, and didn’t want to repay it by selling him Eve’s bloody painting.
With luck he wouldn’t have to. They had nearly a month in hand, so he would find another buyer, pay off Gaskin, play the game and win. And meanwhile he’d ensure Titus had the right clothes, squire him to parties, make certain he had a good time, and see off the scroungers and leeches. That would definitely make up for lying to him about everything.
Nico didn’t like that train of thought, so he abandoned it in favour of sorting out his wardrobe. He had no help from Eve, who was setting up as Titus’s valet, so it took a while. He went over his clothes with care, smoothing out creases, carefully mending loose threads or tiny holes before they got worse, putting aside any he’d want washed or pressed. He didn’t want to go down early and sit in the drawing room as though he owned the place: a bit of humility now would pay dividends. He did, though, wonder what the blazes Eve could be doing that took quite so long.
Chasing after the pretty maid, probably. He’d heard Eve’s tiny intake of breath as they were introduced to Titus’s household, and seen the equally tiny flick of the hips as Alma had turned to escort Eve around the servants’ areas; he anticipated hearing a lot about Alma Thorpe in the near future.He just hoped Eve managed any affair in a way that wouldn’t get them thrown out.
He hung the painting on the wall, since he was settling in. It was a natural thing to do, and you never knew when it might come in useful.
He went downstairs when the gong rang for dinner, pleasingly dressed in his favourite brown coat and a dark green (not arsenic; he’d asked) waistcoat with gilt trim. He headed into the parlour, and stopped dead.
Titus was waiting for him. Except it was…betterTitus.
He was wearing the dark blue superfine that he had picked out with unerring taste, and Mr. Hawkes had done a superb job on the cut, so that his shoulders looked broader, his lanky form elegant. Possibly that was because he stood straighter, as well he might in those clothes. The waistcoat he wore—Nico’s heart leapt with pride—was the one Nico had insisted on, satisfying Titus’s desires in the teeth of his fears. It was a pale blue satin shot with white, elegantly embroidered in silver thread. The effect wasn’t precisely flashy, but it was certainly eye-catching, and very much worth looking at.
Tituswas worth looking at. Someone, probably Eve, had cut his hair into a far more flattering style, so the cow’s lick framed his forehead instead of hanging over it, the lank locks were gone, and his cheekbones and jawline were emphasised. His new breeches were well-fitted, his new shoes gleamed, his silk stockings and linen and neckcloth were spotless. He was even wearing gloves in the isabella of which Nico had disapproved, which proved to be an excellent choice because there was no glare of white or bright lemon drawing attention to his hands.
He was smiling in a shy, anticipatory, delighted way. He lookeddelicious.
“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”
I think I’m a fucking genius.I knew you’d be lovely.“Magnifique. Absolument magnifique. Iknewthat cloth for the waistcoat.”
“Ha!” Titus said. “Perreau said you’d say that.”
The little shit. “Well, I wish to take some credit in this transformation. You look superb. Tonight you are most definitely an exclamation mark.”
Titus went quite pink with pleasure. So he should: He looked damned good. Anyone would, with as much money as he’d spent plus Eve’s talent lavished on them, but it wasn’t just fine feathers making the man. Nico had once seen a forger clean dirty yellowed varnish off an old oil painting so that the real colours hidden underneath sprang out bright, and he came dangerously close to sharing that metaphor with Titus before he recalled himself and bit it back.
“I really am grateful for your help,” Titus said. “I’d never have dared ask for anything like this. I don’t think I’d have realised Icould. And Perreau is marvellous. Er, I told him that I’d appreciate him helping you too, while you’re here, if that’s possible. I don’t want to deprive you of a valet when your need is as great as mine.”
Nico already knew that. Titus had offered Eve a lavish salary increase for the extra work that would entail. Another kindness.
Dinner was a delight. Delicacies covered the table: a soup of peas, lettuce and cucumber, haricot mutton, mackerel cooked with gooseberries, water-cress, some well-spiced pickled vegetables, and an excellent bottle of burgundy.