Maybe Kittredge wouldn’t drink any more wine tonight. He’d send the rest of the decanter over to the reprobates in the corner. And maybe he wouldn’t stay up reading. Maybe he’d go to bed early and think about Franny.
First, he better write to his mother. Calm concerns anything was amiss. Make sure she stayed at the house party and didn’t come looking for him. Delay the face-to-face fuss.
And tomorrow he’d go round to Dagenham’s rooms and see if the viscount had any idea how to track down a young woman in a city of one and a half million.
And that way, he’d get to see Bevel. Bevel was barred from the club after the incident with the Duke of Thornwick’s pantaloons, but since Kittredge was in London, he could treat himself to seeing Bevel every day over Christmastide.
And Bevel doesn’t think I’m an arsehole.
Five
Kittredge was woken by a knock.
“Go away,” he thundered into the dark room.
A meek voice filtered through the door. “Your Grace, Lord Dagenham insisted.”
“No, I insist—” Kittredge heard a scuffle and the door opened, letting in a shaft of light and a stumbling William Dagenham. The night porter for the club stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.
“It’s fine,” Kittredge told the porter. The man bowed and closed the door as Dagenham swayed back and forth and Kittredge lit the lamp next to the bed.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need fare for a hack to get home?”
“I’ve been home. Bevel’s been kidnapped!”
The viscount had a tendency to become histrionic when foxed. Kittredge got out of bed and made Dagenham sit in a chair and talk sense while Kittredge dressed himself.
What Kittredge finally understood was Dagenham had gone home and Bevel was melancholy since he had not been invited along, too, so Dagenham offered to go for a walk in the rain with him. Dagenham and Bevel both had a great affection for London at night and in the wet. But once they got to the edge of Hyde Park, Dagenham realized Bevel had disappeared. Dagenham searched for Bevel for ages but had to go home to piss because as Kittredge well knew, unlike Bevel, Dagenham couldn’t bring himself to piss outside, no matter how drunk he was. But then he remembered Burchester had said earlier Kittredge was staying at the club so he’d come round to let Kittredge know about Bevel.
“Did you remember to piss?” Kittredge did not want Dagenham to disgrace himself in Kittredge’s room.
“Yes. Naturally.” Dagenham sniffed as if he had never missed the chamber pot while fuddled. “But why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be merrymaking under the mistletoe at the manor of the Marquess of Merrifield? Mmmm?”
“Get in the bed and sleep off your drink. No, take your damn boots off first.”
Dagenham struggled with his boots as Kittredge put on his coat. “Where are you going?”
“Only two people in London like me, and I’m not about to lose one.”
Flat on the bed, Dagenham raised his head. “You do know he’s a dog, right?”
“Shut up. Go to sleep.”
“Happy Christmas, Kittredge,” Dagenham said into the pillow.
Kittredge walked Hyde Park for hours, but there was no sign of Bevel.
By the break of day, the rain had long-since stopped, and Kittredge was exhausted. Dagenham was likely still occupying Kittredge’s bed at the club. Of course, Kittredge could get another room there, but his town house was closer. He’d sleep for a few hours, don some new clothes, and then resume the search for Bevel.
The door he had ordered to be painted red six years ago so he could remember which house was his. And the key hidden under the railing here. He let himself in. The air in the house was a bit warmer than outside. And it didn’t smell musty. Good. He trudged up the stairs.
And then he got into his bedchamber and . . . could it be? Yes. Bevel was in the middle of the bed, right where he usually slept. And Kittredge was so happy to see him, he didn’t pay any mind to the odd lump on the far side of the bed.
Bevel turned his head and looked at Kittredge but did not jump up or bark. He must be exhausted, too.
