“Good morning, my lord. Richard, I mean.” David grimaced. “No, I should say ‘my lord.’ ”
“I wish you would not. David, have you plans as to what you will do with yourself? Do you mean to stay here?”
“I will have to take another post soon enough.” David didn’t sound enthusiastic. “I have money saved, but if Mother’s illness returns, she and Mr. Fleming will need a deal of help. I want them to accept that from me without constraint.”
Mrs. Fleming had looked as healthy as a horse to Richard’s eyes. “Is she unwell?”
“Not exactly. She has a condition that may return or may not. If it does, it will be a long and bad decline with no hope of recovery. Or it may not come at all. I hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”
Richard felt belatedly appalled that he had dragged David through his own mourning for an almost-forgotten parent with this hanging over him. “I had no idea. You did not say.”
“You did not ask.”
Of course he had not. It had not even occurred to him to ask. What he knew about his servants’ family lives had all been brought to him by David. A groom needed a day’s holiday to visit an ailing parent; a housemaid was struggling to help her sister’s family, and an extra couple of shillings on her monthly wage would make all the difference. Richard had left it to David, trusted him not to be fooled, paid whatever was asked because it was trivial to him, and basked in a household’s devotion that he had done nothing to earn.
“May I help?” he asked, knowing it was far too late. “You know that if you need anything at all—”
“I can look after my mother. I have saved a great deal, and I dare say I will find another place without difficulty.”
No question of that. David could take any place he wanted, with another master, and work morning till night in another man’s bedroom, concentrating on another man’s body. On Julius, on Lord Maltravers. The idea was unspeakable.
“I have a suggestion for you.” Richard sat up, making the bed creak, waited until David propped himself on an elbow to listen, and said in a rush, “What if you changed your role?”
“My role?”
“Working for me.”
“I don’t work for you now,” David pointed out.
“You could, as my confidential secretary.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My secretary. Managing my affairs. You do—did it unofficially, after all.”
David sat up too. “But not as a secretary. Mr. Clayburn is your secretary.”
“Clayburn is quite adequate at managing my public business. But I need a confidential secretary for my private business. That was made very apparent to me when you stopped doing it. Dominic has temporarily taken on your role as…” He had no idea of whether the word flashman would amuse or insult. “As go-between with Quex’s. If you were my secretary, you could deal with that and a hundred other matters.”
“And would I share your bed too?”
“That is not part of the offer,” Richard said, rather hurt. “That is and always will be your choice. But you must see, if we were on a different footing…” He trailed off, hoping to see a response. David did not look as though he thought the conclusion was obvious.
It was possible he’d misunderstood Richard’s meaning. “I’m not offering you a sinecure, for heaven’s sake, far less a position as my mistress by another name. You would be superb in the role. I am often asked why I have not made better use of your talents. You would do it magnificently, and it would make you more independent, less at my beck and call—”
“Less of a servant?”
“Precisely. It is a position that a gentleman could take without finding it demeaning.”
David went quite still for a second. “Demeaning.”
“You must see that I cannot ask you to share my bed when you black my boots. It would be grotesque. The inequity of it—”
“My mother does most of the household tasks here.” A note of tension rang in David’s voice. “The rector’s stipend is not generous, and she fears for the future if she should no longer have her health. She does not think it grotesque to clean his shoes.”
“I mean no disrespect to your mother, none in the world,” Richard said with some haste. “It is not that.”
“Then what is it?”
It seemed so obvious that Richard struggled to pin it down. “Well, that Lady Richard Vane would not do household tasks. It is a matter of—of rightness. Were I married, my wife would share the privileges and duties of my station just as I suppose your mother and the rector do in their place. My wife would not be obliged to clean my shoes, and nor should my lover be.”