"Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father." Lydia Maria Francis Child

----

Chapter Twenty – Six

"I cannot go to London just yet," replied Cassian.

"What? What do you mean?" Faith looked incredibly puzzled.

Cassian appreciated her urgency, and Lord knows Cassian felt it too, but the third of March was a very important date on Faith's calendar, and if Cassian left now, it would go past unnoticed, and Faith would be alone, and once again unable to visit her son.

"Finn, can you ensure that the purchase agreement is amended and correct?" Cassian asked Finn. "I want to take it with me to London."

Finn nodded, albeit looking just as confused as Faith. "Certainly. I will see to it immediately." Finn left the library and headed in the direction of the foyer.

"Hattie, will you please take Lucy downstairs?" Cassian then turned to his housemaid. "I am sure everyone will want to see her."

Hattie obeyed and held her hand out to Lucy, coaxing her to come along. Lucy skipped over to Hattie and placed her small hand into Hattie's waiting one. They, too, left the library.

"What is going on?" asked Faith firmly. "You heard what Hattie said. You need to go to London."

Cassian had only brought the one overcoat with him to Leicestershire, and so he was still wearing the same clothing that he was when he had first happened upon Faith in and amongst the wildflowers visiting with her son. When Faith had been pulled away by her husband, and the duel had been set, Cassian knew that it was highly likely that Faith would never have the opportunity to sit with her son again.

So Cassian had overturned the soil with his hands, selecting an area a few feet from where Faith had been sitting, so as not to disturb the grave, and had collected half a dozen daffodil bulbs. They were still in his pocket. He was no gardener, and it was highly likely his actions had killed the poor flowers, but he hoped the gesture would be enough to make Faith feel like she could remember her son anywhere.

Cassian fished the bulbs out of his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand. "I know it will be the third in two days. I know this year will be another you feel you are not with your son. But I have brought these bulbs for us to make a new place for him here. These are the same flowers you buried him amongst. We will be creating our own family here, but I want you to feel as though you still have a piece of your son with you."

Faith brought her gaze from the bulbs in Cassian's hand up to his eyes. Her eyes were glassy and filled with tears and her bottom lip was trembling. Faith stood up on her toes and pressed her lips against his softly. She then wound her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Cassian closed his hand around the bulbs so he would not drop them and returned Faith's embrace.

She said nothing, but he knew his gesture meant the world to Faith.

It was almost frightening the lengths that he would go to in order to make Faith happy. Her happiness was everything to him. Cassian could not fathom the love he had for the woman, and how she had consumed every inch of his world in so many months.

Faith's pain was his pain, and he would do anything to ease it.

Faith pulled back, and placed her hand on his cheek. "You go to London," she whispered, "and you bring home our son."

***

Cassian had lost a colossal amount of blood only a mere three weeks ago, and a week long trek to London had not done him any favours. He felt weak and tired, and the site where Faith had burned him still bloody hurt.

But Cassian felt glad when the carriage started to move through the streets of London. The sooner he found Kit, the sooner all could be rectified, and they could be on their way back to Derbyshire to commence their new life.

Cassian managed to pull himself out of the carriage when it came to a stop outside the church. The street, which he had frequented so often during his last month in London, suddenly felt very foreign to him. His house was not a half mile to the right, and yet he felt like he did not belong there anymore.

The country was where they belonged, together as a family. Cassian did not need to be in the city to look after his factories.

Cassian knocked on the door of the church twice, before opening the large oak door. The pews were empty as it was a Friday, but Reverend Atwood was standing at the altar rehearsing his Sunday sermon.

The Reverend seemed to notice and recognise Cassian immediately. "Mr Kensington? My, it has been a while," he remarked.

"Too long," replied Cassian.

Reverend Atwood descended from the altar and met Cassian in the aisle. Cassian really wanted to sit down on one of the pews, but he felt it might be rude.

"I am not one to read anything but the good book, Mr Kensington, but it has been hard to avoid the headlines. Is it all true?"

It was not hard to hazard a guess as to what the reverend was referring to. "It is," confirmed Cassian. "Faith's identity, the duel, everything." Was it not a mortal sin to lie in a church? "But I do not regret any of it, Reverend. I got everything I wanted in the end. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good," quoted Reverend Atwood. "Romans 12:21."

Cassian interpreted the reverend's words not as an exoneration of guilt, but as words of wisdom in how to go on. Overcome evil with good. He would endeavour to. "I am here to see Kit," Cassian explained. "Or rather, I am here to take him with me. Faith and I have decided that Kit belongs with us as our son."

The Reverend's face fell. It was not the expression that Cassian had expected. "Oh, dear. Mr Kensington, I am afraid you are a little late. Why, young Kit left us nearly two months ago."

Cassian's heart stopped. "Kit ... he left?" he repeated, his voice breaking. What had he done to that poor boy? "Why did you not stop him? Where did he go?" Kit had no place to go!

"Nobody could stop him. The boy was determined," replied Reverend Atwood calmly. "Kit decided that he was old enough to leave, and so he did."

Kit might be fourteen years old, but he was not old enough to look after himself in the way that Cassian had. Kit did not know the ways of the world. He was still relatively naïve. Anyone could have taken advantage of a young boy in need of work.

"Do you know where he went?" Cassian asked desperately.

Reverent Atwood nodded once. "The workhouse," he replied. "Until he old enough to be an apprentice."

"The workhouse?" Workhouses were deplorable. Filled with the poorest souls on earth. Cassian had heard such terrible things about workhouses, in particular how the conditions were made worse on purpose to discourage able bodied workers. It was the one place Cassian's mother had forbade him to go, even if he was desperate.

"I directed him to the one on Mersey Street. You should start there," encouraged the reverend. "I know not of what happened, Mr Kensington. All I know is that boy was the happiest I had ever seen him when you were teaching him, and one day he returned from your home broken-hearted. I hope he will forgive any wrong doing."

Cassian hoped for the same. "Thank you, Reverend." The Mersey Street workhouse would be where he would start, and he would search every other workhouse in London if he had to.

Cassian still felt awfully weak as he left the church, but he refused to give in to the thoughts begging him for rest. His child was in a workhouse. That was a far more pressing issue.

"Take me to the workhouse on Mersey Street, please, Green," requested Cassian as he climbed back inside the carriage.

"Yes, sir," replied Mr Green.

The workhouse was a ways away. Out of the way of the rich, where they did not need to see the poor. The select few liked to pretend that these people did not exist. Cassian could attest to that.

The workhouse was a large, red brick building. It was rectangular and severe, and imposing to those who stood before it.

"Shall I come in with you, sir?"

"No, I must go alone," replied Cassian, as he approached the door. No sooner had he rapt on the iron door, a peephole opened and a large, green eye peered at him.

"Who are you?" grunted a harsh voice.

"My name is Cassian Kensington," replied Cassian. "I have come to enquire after one of your workers."

"Who?"

"Kit. He is a boy, fourteen years old. He is quite tall, and he had distinctive curly blond hair," described Cassian.

"Never heard of him," sniffed the man.

With the amount of people working behind this door, Cassian would not be surprised if Kit went unnoticed. "May I come inside and search for him?"

"No."

Cassian fished a coin from inside his purse and held it up to the peep hole. "May I come inside and search for him?" he asked again.

Cassian immediately heard the clicking of the lock as it unlatched. The iron door swung open and a balding, portly man snatched the coin from Cassian and quickly pocketed it. "Be my guest," he said, inviting him in.

Cassian entered the workhouse to find that it was not what he expected. The door opened up into a large, rectangular year. The building cast a shadow over the yard, as it stood three storeys high. From the windows that looked down upon the yard, Cassian could see all sorts of people working away at whatever task was set them. They all seemed to be wearing the same, practical, grey work suits.

The men in the yard wore the same thing, with the addition of a practical grey cap atop their heads. The yard was littered with stones. Some large boulders, others more moveable rocks. Each worker held in his hand a large hammer, a tool that they were using to pound the rocks into small pieces.

The noise once inside was deafening. The constant banging was almost maddening. Each man grunted and puffed as he swung his hammer over his shoulder to pound the boulders over and over.

Their grey clothes were covered in dust and sweat stains. Their faces were blackened and their movements were laboured. These men were exhausted. But was Kit one of them?

Cassian searched the large sea of men, but they all looked the same. Tall, skinny men were all he could see, and that was exactly the build he was searching for. Cassian needed a better view. With what remaining energy he had, Cassian climbed atop one of the boulders and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Kit!" he shouted into the crowd. Cassian's legs shuddered and his eyes fogged over as he lost his balance. Cassian threw his arm out to brace himself as he hit the ground and fell unconscious.

"You really are a wandought, you know that?"

Cassian blinked his eyes a few times until his vision focussed. He was sitting up against the workhouse outside on the street. Mr Green was waiting nearby, holding the reins of the horses, and Kit was kneeling before him.

Kit must have dragged him outside.

Kit looked stronger, if anything, and that appeared to be his only change. His hair was just as blond and curly, and was poking out from underneath his cap. He was kneeling, but he looked as though his limbs were longer, as if he had grown some. His face was covered in the black rock dust, and his green eyes were hard and stern, reserved almost, as though he was protecting himself.

"You think me weak?" murmured Cassian. He noticed that his wrist was hurting after the fall. He twisted the joint to test the pain. It did not feel broken, merely sprained.

"Anyone who faints at the sight of a little hard work is weak," retorted Kit gruffly.

Kit was hurt. That was clear. But he had come to Cassian's rescue, and so he still had an attachment to Cassian, or so he hoped.

"I am so sorry, Kit," Cassian said sincerely. "What you must think of me."

Kit's eyes narrowed. "What do I think of you?" he seethed. "I don't think of you. Why would I?" he lied.

This boy felt abandoned. How could Cassian make it up to him? How could he get Kit to understand? "Kit," persisted Cassian. "I wasn't there like we agreed. I wasn't there for our lesson. I left."

Kit winced, the hurt in his eyes evident. He stood up and took three steps from Cassian, facing out into the street. Cassian could see how tense he was. Kit's posture was rigid.

"You don't owe me anything," replied Kit. "I didn't expect anything less when I showed up that day."

"That is a lie, Kit," countered Cassian. "You wanted everything from me, and I let you down." Cassian did not think he had ever let anyone down before. He had never really had anyone depend on him before. The responsibility for another person was incredible, and something he did not take lightly. "I failed you," he probed, in an attempt to elicit a response.

That had done it. Kit spun around on his heel with tears in his eyes. "Yes, you did!" he cried. "You left without having the damned courtesy to tell me!" Kit swore. "I get I ain't nothing important to you. I get I ain't family or nothing. But if you're someone like me, who doesn't often get a taste of what one of those feels like, then it hurts to have it all ripped away like that!" Kit pulled the cap from his head and ran his fingers back through his hair. "Nobody's ever done anything for me like what you did, sir. I just ... I just thought you cared is all."

Kit's tone had gone from angry to vulnerable. Cassian could not believe he had been so thoughtless.

"I do care, Kit," promised Cassian. "Have you been reading the newspapers?"

Kit frowned. "What does that matter?"

Cassian presumed not. "Will you let me explain to you what happened? Where I have been?"

Kit reluctantly nodded, and joined Cassian at his side once more.

Cassian explained to Kit just exactly what had happened after they had returned him to the church. He detailed how Ruth had discovered Faith was Anne Pendleton's alias, and used this information to force her back to Leicestershire.

"You mean she's not really Faith?"

"She is to us."

Cassian told Kit how he immediately set off after Faith, with the intention of hiding her and Lucy at the home he had purchased in Derbyshire. That was why he had ordered his home in Kensington packed up. The truth was that Cassian had forgotten about Kit in that moment, and their reading lesson was not on his mind. All he could think about was getting to Leicestershire to save Faith.

Finally, Cassian revealed the climax of the story. The duel. He detailed how the Earl had been killed, and Cassian had been shot, Faith had saved his life, and he had been convalescing for a fortnight.

"That is where Faith and Lucy are now. At our home in Derbyshire."

Kit looked very shocked, and he had reason to be. It was an incredible tale. "Is that what made you faint, sir? Your injury?"

Cassian nodded. "I have yet to regain all my strength."

"Oh. Well, I am sorry for calling you a wandought and a leasing-monger," murmured Kit.

"You never called me a leasing-monger," replied Cassian.

"Oh, well I was thinking it," Kit admitted.

Kit thought Cassian a habitual liar during his absence. His character really had taken a beating.

"I deserve it." Cassian sighed. "Kit, in telling you this, I am not trying to take away the guilt on my side, I am only merely explaining the context for the sin. I forgot about you in the moment, and I will be eternally sorry for that."

"It's alright, sir. Your missus needed you."

"She did." Cassian nodded. "But you needed me as well and I was not there."

"I can take care of myself."

"But you should not have to." Cassian pulled the deed from the inside of his coat. It was now or never. He prayed that this proved to Kit just how serious Cassian was in looking after him. "Have you been practicing your reading?"

Kit shook his head. "No."

"Well, give this a go." Cassian unfolded the deed and handed it to Kit.

Kit studied each work carefully, and he read reasonably fluidly. "Land purchase agreement. This is to certify that the Norwood Cottage land in the parish of Norwood and county of Derbyshire was purchased on the twentieth day of December eighteen hundred and five for the sum of fifteen thousand, one hundred and twelve pounds. Vendor: Finnegan Patrick Kelly, Esq. Purchaser: Cassian Kensington, Christopher Kensington." Kit read over the last part in the same even voice, before suddenly comprehending what he had just read. He brought the deed closer to his face as he studied that last name. "Christopher Kensington ... is ... is that me?"

Kit had once told Cassian that he had no surname because he did not have a father. Kit had spent his life without an identity. "The law would not allow you to inherit my assets because you are not my son by birth. So I have put your name down on this deed to ensure that you will always be protected. You own property, Kit."

Kit shook his head, seeming like he did not care for the legality of the document. "This!" he cried, turning the deed around and pointing to his name. "Is this my name?" Kit was trembling. "Two names? A last name?"

Cassian smiled. "How do you like the name Kensington?"

Kit beamed as he struggled to find words. "I ... I like it."

"How do you like the father that comes with it?"

Kit could not stop shaking as the widest, happiest smile filled his face. "Father?" he stammered.

"I am new to fatherhood, you understand. I cannot promise that I will never make another mistake, but I can promise you that you will always have parents who love you, and who only wants the best for you. You can depend on me, Kit." Cassian was certain he would make many mistakes. He had never been a father before, or a husband. He had only ever had himself to worry about. This was a new, daunting step, but he would not trade this new family for anything.

"I never thought ... never could have imagined ... parents," breathed Kit, still clearly overwhelmed. His eyes returned to Cassian. This time they were filled with joy. "I have a father? I have a name?"

"Yes, you do."