Page 38 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

As Harry had married his sweetheart at the age of nineteen and now had six little urchins tearing through the small house he had behind the inn, Thomas wasn’t completely convinced that he was qualified to offer judgments on matters of the heart.

“Had a bloke in here just the other day…” Harry began.

Then again, he’d surely heard every sob story and sad tale from here to York and back.

Thomas drank his ale as Harry nattered on about nothing in particular. Thomas wasn’t really listening, but it did occur to him, as he sucked down the last dregs, that never in his life had he been more grateful for mindless chatter.

And then in walked Mr. Audley.

Thomas stared at his tankard, wondering if he ought to ask for another. Downing it in under a minute sounded rather appealing just then.

“Good evening to you, sir!” Harry called out. “How’s your head?”

Thomas looked up. Harry knew him?

“Much better,” Audley replied.

“Gave him my morning mixture,” Harry told Thomas. He looked back up to Audley. “It always works. Just ask the duke here.”

“Does the duke often require a balm for overindulgence?” Audley inquired politely.

Thomas looked at him sharply.

Harry did not answer. He’d seen the look that passed between them. “You two know each other?”

“More or less,” Thomas said.

“Mostly less,” Audley added.

Harry looked at Thomas. Their eyes met for barely a second, but there were a hundred questions in the exchange, along with one astoundingly comforting reassurance.

If he needed him, Harry would be there.

“We need to go,” Thomas said, pushing his stool back to stand. He turned to Harry and gave him a nod.

“You’re together?” Harry asked with surprise.

“He’s an old friend,” Thomas said. More of a grunt, really.

Harry did not ask from where. Harry always knew which questions not to ask.

He turned to Audley. “You didn’t mention you knew the duke.”

Audley shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

Harry appeared to consider this, then turned back to Thomas. “Safe journeys, friend.”

Thomas tipped his head in response, then headed out the door, leaving Audley to follow in his wake.

“You’re friends with the innkeeper,” Audley stated once they were outdoors.

Thomas turned to him with a broad, false smile. “I’m a friendly fellow.”

And that was the last thing either of them said until they were just minutes from Belgrave, when Audley said, “We’ll need a story.”

Thomas looked at him askance.

“I assume you don’t wish to set it about that I am your cousin—your father’s elder brother’s son, to be precise—until you have verification.”

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