Arthur’s ridiculous, lovesick monologue was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. His and Charlotte’s eyes immediately flew wide, and Arthur cupped a hand over his mouth as his stomach plummeted to the floor. He turned to see poor Patrick hovering in the doorway, his cheeks red.
“Patrick!” Arthur exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “I . . . I . . .”
Patrick smiled an uneasy-looking smile, one that was more of a grimace.
“Apologies, Mr. Hughes,” Patrick said. “I wanted to let you know that someone came to the door. I let him in. He’s waiting in the reception room.”
Arthur nodded a couple of times, considering how to respond. He could either pretend that nothing had happened or acknowledge what Patrick must have overheard.
He shut his eyes and made his choice.
“Did you... happen to hear any of what I was saying? Just now?” he asked.
“I, uhm, I did,” Patrick admitted, lowering his head.
Arthur swallowed thickly and reopened his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to explain himself. Or even whether he should. Before Arthur could come up with something to say, Patrick began speaking again.
“But, before you worry, Mr. Hughes, I, uhm, I promise that there’s no need to pretend with me.” Patrick’s blush deepened. “If I’m overstepping, please know that I mean no harm. I only want to reassure you that I’m not offended by what I heard before I came in here. I... possess similar proclivities myself.”
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.
“Oh! I-I hadn’t realized.” He stammered, wide-eyed. “Wow, that’s... Patrick, that’s... Thank you for telling me. I hope you know I’ll never share your... your secret. Just as I hope that you won’t share mine?”
Patrick looked at his shoes and smiled, crimson still clinging to his cheeks.
“Of course not, Mr. Hughes.”
“Do you have a, ehm, a friend as well?”
“Not at the moment, no,” he said, looking up through his lashes. “I never wanted to compromise my employment with you.”
“Oh, Patrick, I’m sorry you were worried about that. I’d never have faulted you for wanting some companionship, as long as youwere careful.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair and huffed a half laugh. “I suppose you had no way of knowing that, though. But, well, now you do. And I hope that it puts your mind at ease should you ever want to find a companion yourself.”
Patrick’s small smile blossomed. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Charlotte placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, I believe someone is waiting for you downstairs?” she said.
“Right, sorry,” Arthur said with a forceful shake of his head. He smoothed his hands over his tailcoat. “Alright, time to see Jesse.”
“Ah, one more thing, Mr. Hughes,” Patrick said. “The man I let in, it wasn’t Mr. O’Connor. I believe he said his name was... Mr. Russell?”
Chapter Twelve
Jesse
Jesse let out a frustrated growl as he erased a portion of the latest sketch he’d made of his modified Gordon Jobber. After forcefully blowing the eraser bits off of the paper, he smacked his palm on his desk.
Giuseppe came into the room and leaned against the doorframe.
“Jeez, Jess, you need a break. I only came home an hour ago, and already I can tell that you’re becoming too obsessed.”
“I know, but I wanted to finish it.” Jesse took the paper off of the desk and crunched it into a ball. Chucking it across the room, he said, “I wanted to come up with something good enough for Arthur to prototype soon.”
“Does he have a spot at a machine shop reserved or something?”
“No, but he won’t need one. With his kind of money, he could hire whoever he wants, whenever he wants. I’m sure they’d set every other project aside to make something for him.”
